


Dream World

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-30
Updated: 2005-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:42:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7094692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of  “Forgiving,” someone’s nightmares are just beginning. Unlike the aired version of the current storyline where Wesley and Angel do not encounter one another after their altercation at the hospital, in this series, Angel confronts his ex-ally in his apartment before he’s had the opportunity to calm down and come to terms with his anger and his loss. As a result, Angel commits a cruel act of violence against his friend and both men are left to deal with the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

\--------- 

Notes: This was my first “Angel” fic, written late Third Season after the airing of “Forgiving.” It deals with the “what-if’s” of Angel’s rage at the loss of his son.

 

~*~*

 

*“Love can be a terrible thing.” ~ Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.*

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

“You betrayed me!”

The Englishmen’s eyes flew wide and he scrambled to sit up, pushing himself against the headboard of his bed as he fought to clear his vision. His impossibly long legs were twisted in the sheets and he kicked them free as he fought to gain awareness of the world around him.

“Did you think I wouldn’t come for you?”

Wesley fumbled for the nightstand and gasped in surprise when he realized one of his wrists was firmly manacled to the post of his bed. He squinted myopically into the darkness around him, then with his free hand, located his glasses, pushed them onto his face and blinked into the shadows at the form looming over him. 

“Angel?” The name wrenched from his damaged vocal cords, the first he’d spoken since his throat was slashed and he was left to die alone in the deserted park, drowning in his own blood. “What--?”

“You son of a bitch, did you think I wouldn’t come for you?”

Wesley fought for breath as he tried to still the racing of his heart. He struggled against the handcuff binding his wrist, but found it secure. A chill cut down his spine. *The revocation of Angel’s invitation!* He never performed the spell. When he reached his apartment by cab, in fatigue and despair, he slipped from his clothes to his briefs, fell into bed and into a fitful slumber, neglecting to fortify his sanctuary against the threats of a man he once considered his closest friend. He swallowed and pushed himself farther back against the headboard. “Angel, I…”

“You what, Wesley?” The dark eyes smoldered. “Didn’t think I’d come here? Didn’t think I’d violate your haven? That’s the problem with you, Wes, you didn’t think this through. For a man who can’t piss without a *plan,*” he spat the word, “I can’t believe you didn’t fully consider the consequences of stealing my son. My *only* son. If I had a shilling for every time I’ve heard you wine ‘but *Angel* we don’t have a plan,’ I’d be a millionaire.” 

“And this?” Wes gave the manacle a bitter tug and glared. “Is necessary – why?”

The vampire shrugged. “I didn’t want you to run squealing into the night before we concluded our little conversation. My *son.* You consorted with Holtz to take my son!” 

“No, I never--” His damaged throat closed around the words, around the growing despair he felt in the face of the pain he’d caused the people he loved more than life itself, and he couldn’t speak, but his eyes silently begged his friend to understand.

“*You owe me, Pryce.*” 

In an instant, the vampire was on him; his formidable weight pressed against the Englishmen’s slight frame. Wes cried out in surprise and fought to escape his grasp, his feet kicking the sheets to the floor in a heap as he scrambled to push free, but Angel held tight to his arm, fingers cutting into the skin, threatening his circulation. The realization came in a heartbeat; he was going to die tonight at the hands of his dearest friend. “Angel, I’ve mucked things so terribly. If you’d only permit me to explain.” He forced the words from his burning throat in a painful whisper. “I’m so very, very…sorry.”

A rueful laugh filled the shadows of the room. “Sorry? Is that all you can say? You’ve taken everything from me and all you can say is ‘sorry?’”

“If there was anything more I could do. Anything I could offer.” Breathless with the effort of so many words at once, still weakened from his injuries and the painkillers he’d taken before falling into bed, his vision swam and he swayed, almost slumping against the body of his assailant.

“Anything you could offer?” A wicked smile perverted the vampire’s lips. “I don’t require your consent to extract my vengeance. You’ve taken my only son, you bastard. You owe me yours!” He pushed the lanky Englishman against the headboard, slamming his head into the unforgiving wood, and to Wesley’s growing horror, he shoved his hand beneath the waistband of his shorts. “Pity to lose these so soon after growing them.”

“Good Lord, ANGEL!”

A cold hand grasped the burning flesh of the human’s balls as Angel hissed, “*These are mine!*”

“Are you insane, man!” He fought to struggle free but the effort only increased the pressure on the tender flesh. Wesley froze. His eyes, large and blue behind the reflection of his glasses, locked on the vampire’s unyielding face. “Surely you don’t intend to…to do such a thing.”

Angel made no move to tear the human, only held the priceless weight captive in his palm, his dark eyes burning. “Would you deny me justice?”

Pain and the growing shame of his own vulnerability caused a tremor to move through Wes’s body. He fought the handcuff that restrained him, but found it secure. Even without the manacle, he was powerless against the vampire’s strength and both men knew it. “You mustn’t do this, Angel,” he rasped. “Consider your soul.” 

“Ever the valiant guardian, even now.” He mocked. “The *watcher* of my immortal soul.” 

The man squeezed his eyes shut, anticipating the inevitable. Surely this was madness; his ex-friend couldn’t intend to actually perpetrate such a ghastly deed against him. He shook the thought aside and tremors coursed through his body. Would Angel leave him here to bleed to death in disgrace? Or rush him back to the hospital to live in disgrace? Half a man. He couldn’t stop the shaking of his limbs.

Wesley waited….

Nothing.

His eyes crept open.

Angel sat watching him, holding his most valued flesh but making no move to harm him, his fingers absently stroking gentle patterns against the sensitive skin. No expression betrayed what he was thinking.

Fear choked Wesley, making him squirm while the cold grasp trapped him in place. He didn’t dare move for fear of emasculating himself, but the touch was maddening. It was terrifying. Yet. He swallowed hard. Minutes passed and still his ex-friend made no move to finish the grisly act of vengeance. He swallowed again and tried to shift away from the touch of the chilling hand thrust beneath his shorts as a growing discomfort of a different sort drew his attention. “Angel?” he whispered, his voice trembling.

The vampire made no move other than to softly stroke the gentle weight resting in his palm.

Suddenly, Wesley felt an unexpected stirring from the organ nestled amidst the darkened curls of his pubic hair beneath his briefs, and his eyes widened in alarm. Bloody Hell!

A wicked grin tugged at the corner of Angel’s lips. “What have we here?”

A growing blush colored the pale skin beneath the Englishman’s stubble-covered cheeks and he averted his face. This wasn’t happening. 

The vampire shifted his weight without releasing his hold, pressed against Wes’s slender body and whispered into his ear, “Come now, did you think I didn’t know? All these years. Did you think that I couldn’t smell your desire?” 

Denial screamed from his eyes, pale blue and trapped behind the reflection of his spectacles, like a disobedient child caught in the act. Like the time when he was twelve and his father found him with ‘that’ book, rubbing himself through the fabric of his trousers. Having been remiss in his studies, his father was enraged. He flinched, remembering how he fought to hide his arousal. How his father made him stand and face him, hands behind his back. Exposed. Humiliated. The beating that ensued. For years thereafter, the shame remained, every time he dared to touch himself. 

“Come now, Wes, old chum. The way you scamper around, all but begging me to take it. My faithful servant.”

“You’re…mistaken.” He flustered, dropping his gaze from the other’s penetrating eyes. “Surely you realize, I couldn’t possibly… Fred…. it’s Fred I’ve been watching. Not *you.*”

“Fred’s with Gunn.” The words were blunt, still they cut with their finality.

“I know,” he whispered, hearing the door to his heart slam shut. His lovely Fred was lost to him. All those he loved were lost to him in the wake of his decision to protect Connor the only way he knew how. 

*The father will kill the son.*

“Were you thinking of stealing her from Gunn? Like you stole my son from me?”

“*Never.* I would never betray…” The words caught in his torn throat and he choked.

“A friend? Well, I guess I know where we stand, don’t I?”

“Please, you don’t understand. It was never my intent to hurt--” The pressure unexpectedly increased on his balls and he cried out in pain even as the disturbing sensations intensified in his groin. Why did his body continue to betray him? He fought for control as the disobedient organ twitched to life, struggling to harden even as he shuddered in shame.

“Is it the pain that arouses you?” he hissed. “Is that what gets you off? Did you toss off in the sheets every time your father beat you?”

Wesley gasped in shock at the cruelty of the accusation. Staring mutely at the man he’d considered his friend for so many years, the center of his world, he couldn’t believe the heartlessness in his tone. His childhood was something he seldom dared to mention, even to those he trusted, only to have it thrown at him like this by a man who sat clutching his scrotum in his icy palm. 

The vampire leaned near and pressed cool lips against his ear. “Maybe I should stuff you in a closet, little Wes. A fitting punishment, don’t you agree? Just what *did* you do in the dark for all those lonely hours?”

The ex-watcher trembled and again his body stirred. Angel chuckled and the vibrations moved through him, stealing his breath and causing his heart to race. This was a nightmare. *Just rip and be done with it!* He wanted to shout at the hand all-too-firmly attached to his quivering body. There was a time he would have given his soul for this touch. Not this vengeful touch, but another, kinder, gentler caress. He felt his cheeks blaze and he dipped his head, knowing the gesture was useless yet desperate to hide the truth from his ex-friend’s gaze.

Laughter denied him his dignity. “Would you offer me justice of a different sort?”

Wesley frowned and raised his head. “It’s foolish to consider that I could offer reciprocity for your loss.”

“Truly?” Angel sneered and released his grasp. He abruptly seized the waistband of the man’s shorts, tearing them aside with inhuman strength that ripped the skin of his inner thigh in his brutal haste. Wes cried out in pain and tried to pull away, kicking out at his assailant. The vampire growled and grabbed his shoulder, pinning him firmly in place, fingers biting into his flesh. “Stay.”

A whimper caught in his throat. “God damn it, Angel, let me go.”

“When I’ve taken what’s mine. What’s *always* been mine.” His eyes swirled with a golden haze that slowly settled back to their familiar brown.

The brown of warmth, trust and friendship.

Wes’s heart ached. This was all his fault. His betrayal had driven his friend to this depth of rage and madness. He had no one to blame but himself. Surely the loss of his son had driven Angel insane. 

Released from the confines of his tattered briefs, Wesley’s wayward organ swelled, relishing its freedom and mocking the humiliated ex-watcher. It was useless to deny the arousal Angel’s touch had unwittingly invoked. Wouldn’t his father be proud? He was a little pervert after all. Aroused at the moment of death by the touch of a vampire. A vile creature of the night, every watcher’s avowed enemy. “Kill me and be done with it.”

“Kill you?” The vampire’s voice registered genuine surprise. “That would be far too simple, don’t you agree?”

“What?” The word barely escaped his startled lips before he found himself slammed once more against the headboard with Angel’s hand thrust between his cheeks, finger pushing…. 

“Stop!” He wrenched from his assailant’s grasp. “Are you insane?”

“There’s no use squealing like a maiden; I’d hardly be the first.”

“No. I never.” Wesley shook his head in violent denial. This wasn’t happening! How could he be so painfully naïve not to realize what the other man intended? “*Never.*”

“All those years in an all boy’s school? University? Oxford?”

“Surely you’re not implying this because I’m English. One might expect as much from the yanks, but you’ve got to realize that’s a ludicrous assumption. That I…that I *bugger* men, for Christ’s sake.” 

“Actually, I was thinking it was more the other way around; you’re more the sort to be buggered *by* men. The shameless way you pined for me in the sweaty aftermath of battle? In the musty expanse of the hotel I could scent your arousal; you’re a slut, Wes, there’s no use denying it.”

He gaped at his companion in silent horror. People were always making that assumption about him, but he never expected to hear it from Angel’s lips. The words cut deep into his heart and he found himself blinking back a sudden burning in his eyes. Even his father had believed the lies told of various encounters in darkened alleys and public washrooms that were spread by vindictive boys he turned away in school, and years later by instructors at university who thought they found an easy victim in the gangly youth whose fine-boned features caught their lustful eyes. It earned him more than his share of thrashings over the years by an angry father who sought to beat the perversion out of a son who never quite met his expectations. Yet another unmerited punishment dealt for acts he never committed. It wasn’t that Wesley never considered what it might be like to experience these things whispered of in quiet corners of the dorm and the smoky shadows of London clubs and years later in L.A, and even once in shocking detail by a male instructor with lips pressed against his unwilling ear…

But rather the shame. The fear. 

*Never.* 

Icy fingers pushed at his entrance that resisted Angel’s invasion and he squirmed away from the vampire’s touch. “Dash it, Angel, don’t!”

“You’ve been begging for it, Wes, so prissy and stiff, all but asking me to bend you over your desk.” His eyes dropped accusingly to the man’s straining erection. “You can’t deny you want me.”

He choked on his reply and shook his head in mute denial. Yes, he desired the vampire with an admiration bordering on worship. But not like this. God help him. *Never like this.* He should have realized that Angel could smell his arousal over the years. That he knew he was shamefully attracted to the hero of his world. God, how humiliating! And his loneliness, he thought with sudden bitterness, could Angel sense his loneliness as well? “Sod off, you bloody bastard.”

The vampire darkened with rage and struck him.

The fist slammed into his jaw, dislodging his glasses and leaving him slumped against the headboard. He shook his head to clear it, resettled his spectacles and sat up, eyes defiant. The impact of his friend’s fist against his face was personal, more so than anything else, and a wave of rage washed though him. He glared at the vampire.

“You took what was rightfully mine. You had to know I’d seek reprisal in full.”

“Then kill me, you son of a bitch.” 

“Too easy, my friend.” He nestled close, insinuating his heavy frame against the Englishman’s almost painfully thin chest, pressing his lips against his ear. “I’ll take my pound of flesh, thank you.”

Wesley shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut. *To think I worshiped you. Eyes filled with adoration, begging for a simple word of praise. Staring up into the shadows at night and longing for the whisper of a single cool touch to chill my burning flesh…*

A cold hand drew him from his thoughts and he jumped in surprise.

Icy fingers clutched his thighs, bruising him as Angel tried to bend his knees to draw his legs upward. He fought the vampire’s attempts, kicking out in rage at the violation. “I swear to God, I’ll stake you!”

“You want this, Wes; you’ll never stake me. You lack the balls.” He seized the tender flesh and gently squeezed…

Wesley pulled in his breath in pain.

The pressure slowly increased with excruciating intensity until the man cried out, cursed, and allowed his legs to bend, exposing himself to his companion’s expressionless stare, and leaving him vulnerable. Humiliation burned in his throat and he swallowed hard. Frozen fingers pressed at the sensitive entrance to his body and he stifled a cry of alarm. His body resisted the invasion and his eyes hardened to gray as they bore into Angel’s. Hating him. 

Hate? 

No. It wasn’t possible to loathe the object of his adoration. This was his fault. He drove Angel to this madness. He failed the only man who’d ever believed in him…

A finger thrust inside him, freezing, and he jerked, trying to pull away, but a hand gripped his hip, holding him fast. The single digit probed, delving deeply into the warmth that tightened around it, fighting to expel the invasion. It hurt. How could anyone in his right mind desire such a thing? How many bitter nights had he fantasized in the loneliness of his bed what it would be like to feel Angel inside of him? Holding him, whispering gentle words of encouragement and validating his worth. But not this, this painful claiming, intended to shame him. It was a perversion of the love---

No. 

He shook his head, refusing to think the word. It had no meaning. Would never have meaning again. He closed his eyes, fighting to still the trembling of his legs, fighting to push all thoughts of the invading hand from his mind. He struggled to still the raging of his heart, knowing the vampire could sense its every beat, and slowly his body adapted to the unwanted touch. Adapted. Accepted…

It began to feel…nice…

Angel thrust, striking something deep inside the man. 

“Good lord!” Wesley’s eyes flew wide and he fought to push away. “Angel, stop!” His erection that had waned sprang to life, jutting against his abdomen and straining for attention. “*Please.*”

“Let yourself go,” the vampire breathed, pushing with a determined thrust and nestling near, massaging deep within the man with a skillful touch. “Give yourself to me.”

In horror, Wesley felt his hips buck toward the source as his swelling cock screamed for release beneath the manipulations of whatever his assailant was doing inside his body. His hands balled into fists, nails cutting into his palms as he fought the humiliating need to grab himself and pump. *Dear Lord, if this continues—*

The palm of Angel’s hand lightly brushed the head of his throbbing erection, and he almost cried out in surprise. The vampire pressed cold lips against his ear, “I want you to come for me, Wes--”

“NO!” He kicked out, striking the vampire in the gut and pushing him back as he scrambled toward the headboard, pressing against it and fighting for breath. He strained against the handcuff restraining his wrist.

Angel wrenched his finger out and pain burned in the wake of its departure. The vampire’s eyes fell to the neglected erection straining against the ex-watcher’s stomach and a smile slowly twisted his lips. 

Wesley dropped his head against the headboard, trembling uncontrolled. Mortified by what he’d almost allowed himself to do, he fought the sudden onslaught of tears that threatened behind his eyes. “Damn you,” he hissed. “*Damn you to hell.*” This was a nightmare! He wouldn’t cry; he swore he’d die before he allowed himself to cry in front of this bastard. This wasn’t the man whose soul he fought to save, whose humanity meant more to him than life itself. The man whose touch he should have embraced.

*You’re a dead man, Pryce.*

The memory seared his heart, and Wesley squeezed his eyes shut against the unshed tears.

Angel. It was too much to bear, believing that after all these years he’d finally gained the man’s respect, only to realize the vampire was harboring such ridicule of him and mocking his foolish infatuation all along. Wesley struggled all his life to overcome the perceptions of others concerning his sexuality, fighting to dispel any suggestion of ambiguity. Only to find his efforts were in vain. Angel knew. He’d known all along…

Cool lips pressed against his ear startling him and he jumped. “What are you thinking?” Wesley shook his head and turned aside from the chilling breath sending tremors through his body. The vampire inhaled deeply, scenting him. Wes closed his eyes. “You want me. What would your father think? Daddy’s twisted little boy. A watcher and a vampire. Aren’t there vows against that sort of thing?”

“Ex-watcher.” The words were out of his mouth before he could catch them. “And, indeed, there are…vows. Such contact is strictly forbidden.”

“Ex. How could I forget? Yet another of your many failures. Tell me, Wes, have you ever succeeded at anything? Your Sunnydale fiasco was just a precursor of things to come. I should have known; I was warned you would betray me.”

He closed his mind against the onslaught of emotions the words evoked. 

“What? Cat got your tongue?” A stealth hand moved up and touched the jagged scar, an angry mar against the pale skin of his throat. The touch became a caress as his fingers moved along the wound, still far from healed, to rest upon the pulse of his juggler. “So near,” he breathed. “So painfully near to your own mortality. You should have died that night.”

“I know,” he whispered. “It would have spared you this pain.”

“Would it?” Angel laughed, the sound suddenly unbearably loud in the room around them. “You would have denied me my justice?”

“Your…vengeance. No, I expect I wouldn’t.” He conceded, fighting the trembling of his steadily weakling voice. His vocal cords were fading beneath the strain of overuse. Suddenly, pale lips were pressed against his pulse, giving him an unexpected jolt, and he pulled in his breath in surprise. Angel nuzzled the artery beneath the flesh, caressing it with his mouth. Wes quivered beneath the touch. Slowly, the vampire abandoned the spot and moved along the jagged line of stitches marring the unshaven throat, lapping as if to taste the memory of blood spilled upon the ground. Wesley’s blood. Lost to an inept assault. The vampire purred.

Wesley moaned as the vibrations moved through him and instinctively arched toward the source. A brush of teeth caught him by surprise and he gasped. Nibbles traced the wound, teasing the stitches, lapping at the dried flakes crusted along the scar.

“Would you offer yourself to me?”

He strained to hear the words, barely aware they’d been spoken. “What?”

“I’m taking you here, tonight, I told you that. I’ll have what’s mine, but you’ll decide the manner in which I claim you.”

The man gulped, unable to believe what he was hearing. A choice? He had a choice? He straightened against the headboard, pulling in his trembling breath and fighting to regain a remnant of dignity. “You would…turn me?”

Angel chuckled at the thought. “Don’t flatter yourself. Watchers make the worst vampires, you know that. I’d waste far too much time hunting you down and destroying you. Nor do I intend to kill you.” He winked. “Tonight. But I’m taking you, one-way or the other. You decide which.”

His eyes grew wide, pale blue and swirling with confusion. In the span of a heartbeat, the hopes and dreams of a lifetime whispered through his mind. He dared a glance at his dark-clad companion on the bed next to him who regarded him without expression, and he felt all the more vulnerable in his nakedness. His friend. No. Ex-friend. Gone were the carefree traces of gentle familiarity, the spontaneous smiles that had come so freely these past few months. Replaced by this hollow-shell bent on revenge in the wake of Connor. His fault.

All his fault.

Wesley sighed. He had dreamed of such a moment. Self-indulgent fantasies in which his companion, the hero of his world, would join him here, sharing a moment’s cool caress, pale lips and gentle hands teaching him the wonders and secrets that could be shared between two warriors battling a common cause. The foolish dreams of a desperate and lonely man who dared to fancy himself worthy of a being such as this: the dark champion of the coming apocalypse. He allowed his eyes to slowly pass over his companion, coming to rest on the growing evidence of the other man’s arousal, the telling bulge in the front of his trousers. His heart skipped a beat and his eyes darted aside. He’d never been with a man, much less his heart’s desire. 

But his heart’s desire did not include rape.

He pulled in his breath and fought to still the tremors coursing through him. Suddenly chilled, he wrapped a pale arm across his chest, quelling an irrational shame that years of weapons and hand-to-hand training had not endowed him with the muscularity of his ex-friend. Why should it matter to him that even now he might be found wanting in the other’s eyes?

“Well?”

Wesley gave a start at the impatient tone. He blinked and his world returned to focus around him. Words caught in his damaged vocal cords and he choked. The vampire snuggled near, taking him by surprise by nuzzling the erratic pulse racing beneath the skin of his neck. He trembled at the touch. Was there truly any other choice? These almost gentle caresses could be misconstrued by his deluded mind as a lover’s stroke, and Wesley was adept at self-delusion. He had a lifetime of experience. Cool lips traced soothing patterns against his skin and he sighed, settling into the embrace. If he survived this night, his only hope for sanity rested in the deception of his soul’s response to just this touch - a lover’s touch - false though it may be. 

The alternative would leave him mad.

In that instant, his decision was made and he tilted his chin up, laying bare the ravaged expanse of his throat to the vampire’s greedy tongue. Angel chuckled against his skin, causing the flesh to tremble in response. “This is your choice?” Cold breath whispered across his neck and he nodded.

“Say it” the vampire purred and reached down stroking his palm against the cheek of Wesley’s ass. “Do you want me inside…?”

“No!” He jerked free, eyes wide.

“Your blood, then?”

“Take me,” he breathed, relinquishing the remnants of his Watcher vows, knowing it was sacrilege to all he held dear to give himself to a creature of the dark. “Take my blood.”

“You trust me not to *kill* you, my friend?”

Trust?

How fragile the word sounded, a puff of breath against his skin. Yet the power it conveyed. The ties that bound them as a family, the only family he would ever know, were weaved into the consequences of that one simple word. The trust he betrayed. “I trust you not to *turn* me.”

Strong arms enveloped him, pulling him close to a broad expanse of chest and stealing his breath in surprise. He closed his eyes and gave himself to the majesty of those lips, to the moistened sweep of a tongue tracing his stitches. A moan escaped him and a flush of embarrassment brushed his cheeks at the sound of his arousal. It was not Angel’s intent to tantalize, he knew, but to conquer and to claim him, wielding just punishment for the ex-watcher’s betrayal. But this, these lips, this mouth that weaved its way across his tender throat, nibbling at the stubble of several days’ unshaven growth, suckling at the stitches as if he were a treasure to be cherished. 

*Oh, God, Angel.*

A lover’s touch. Yes, the lie would suffice. Thankful that he was granted this choice and not the alternative: cold, painful ravagement devoid of this blessed delusion, he silently reveled in the embrace, praying that Angel wouldn’t notice.

Trust.

His heart ached for what might have been, even as his body arched into the touch, silently begging despite his resolve. A silk-clad arm lightly brushed the head of his throbbing erection and he pulled in his breath with an audible hiss. If the fingers attached to that arm had suddenly chosen to wrap around him, Wesley knew he would lack the dignity to pull away. A gentle graze of teeth tantalized his skin, and he quivered when the caress became a kiss. A kiss? Angel nuzzled the hollow of his throat then lifted his head, pressing his lips to Wes’s astonished mouth in a tender, probing kiss. “I have dreamed of what we might have shared,” Angel murmured against his mouth, pushing his tongue into its depths. 

Wesley’s heart raced in amazement, unable to believe his ears. “As have I, so many nights.” He dared to confess, trembling at the admission.

“You might have died,” the vampire rasped. “I couldn’t bear the thought…” 

“Angel, I--”

“…of being denied *this!*”

Iron fingers seized his arms, slamming Wes hard against the headboard. He felt his skull crack with the impact and a trickle of blood oozed down the back of his neck. He shook his head to clear it, unable to process the sudden turn of events. 

“*Why didn’t you trust me!*”

Through a scarlet haze, he fought to focus on Angel’s hate filled visage. Dark eyes burned into his as the vampire wrenched him up then slammed him down again, rocking the bed in a violent outrage. Angel seized the man’s thighs, fingers cutting into the tender flesh, thrust his legs wide, then upward.

Wesley struggled…

Felt his knee pop out of socket.

A scream caught in his ravaged throat at the unbearable pain. His damaged legs were brutally twisted up and Angel slammed his body against him. Still clothed, he ground his cloth-covered erection against the struggling man. In a swirl of agony the room began to fade.

“Don’t you pass out on me, you son of a bitch.”

Wesley fought for coherence. This wasn’t Angel. *His Angel.* He raised a feeble hand of protest and pushed at the too solid chest pressing down upon him, dimly aware of the angry cock the vampire was releasing from his trousers. Blood dripped from a self-inflicted slice along his wrist, and Angel crudely lubed himself. 

Not like this. *Dear God, not like this.* 

Angel had given him a choice so he would know what Wesley feared the most. Cold lips pressed against his ear.

“How does it feel, Wes…”

Agony ripped though his body as Angel thrust into him, tearing….

“…*to be betrayed?*”

Screams froze in his throat as darkness descended.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

//Screams echoed though the darkness of the room. With a jolt, Angel awoke. 

The floor. 

He’d fallen asleep on the floor, braced against his bed. He fought to still the trembling of his limbs and pulled an unneeded breath into his useless lungs.

Another nightmare. 

Through the shadows of the burnt and charred room, his eyes fell to the lonely, empty crib. A silent relic. It sat accusing him of yet another failure. He dropped his face into his hands. 

Since that night at the hospital, every time he slept the nightmares returned.

Through trembling fingers he stared at the crib. Connor.

“Pryce, you bastard, you took my son!”

He stumbled to his feet and toward the crib, starting to dismantle it with bitter resolve. His friend. His closest friend.

Wes, why didn’t you trust me!

He squeezed his eyes shut and fought back a wave of emotion he couldn’t define. 

Pryce, you bastard, you took…

His soul lunged in his chest.

…my heart.//


	2. Eclipse of The Soul

~*~*

*“The worst spot in hell is reserved for those who betray.”~ Lilah*

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

“Get the hell out.”

Gunn stood frozen in the hallway, uncertain but determined. “Look, there’s a lot of places I’d rather be, but--”

“I told you, I don’t want any of you to come here again.” Wesley stood framed in the doorway, rugged and unkempt, the scar on his throat glaring angry in the dusty light of his shadowy apartment. Clad in jeans and tee shirt, he was casual but far from relaxed as he stood staring without expression at the young black man standing immobile in the hall.

“I got somethin’ to say.”

“Nothing that I should like to hear.” He moved to push the door closed.

Gunn slammed his boot between the door and the frame. Eyes hard. Unyielding. “Man, like I said, I got somethin’ to say.”

“And as I’ve said, I’ve no desire to hear it.” The Englishman’s voice was little more than a whisper but it conveyed his resolve without question. He pushed the door…

Gunn shoved back. “Dude, no one shuts a damn door in my face.”

“Must I reiterate; you’ve nothing to say that I should wish to hear. Leave!”

“Don’t think you’re gonna get all prissy with me and make me go away. Not till I’ve had my say.”

“*Your* say.” He chuckled deep within his throat and leaned against the door, fist tight on the handle, knuckles whitening. “How moronically ironic. You’ve no idea how ludicrous you sound.”

“Don’t think you’re gonna intimidate me with all those big-ass words of yours, either. Speak English.”

“The Queen’s own English.” Wesley snorted and turned away, the set of his shoulders slumped but dismissive as if the man in the hall had suddenly ceased to exist. He didn’t bother to close the door as he moved into his apartment, hand thrust deep into the pocket of his jeans, the other pressed against his side as if caught by a sudden pain. His steps faltered and he paused, drew a deep breath, then moved slowly on into the room. 

“Charles Gunn owes no man a debt. I’ve come to say…” His words faltered as he addressed the unyielding back of the man he once considered his closest friend. “I’ve got to say…thanks. I thought you’d want to know what--”

Wesley slumped and gripped the sofa back, holding tight as if to keep from collapsing. 

“Dude?” Gunn frowned.

The man stiffened and pulled himself up straight.

“You okay?”

“Just peachy,” he hissed through clinched teeth, back rigid and unyielding.

“I just thought you’d want to know…you know, how things went with those slug thingies. That everyone’s…well, okay.”

“Fred?” he interrupted bluntly.

Gunn nodded stiffly then realized the man couldn’t see the gesture with his back turned, so he cleared his throat and said, “My girl’s got spunk. She’s good.”

Wesley drew a ragged breath and said nothing. 

“Well.” The young black man shifted in the doorway. “Just thought I’d say.”

Silence.

“You know, you don’t look so good.” He took a single step into the room. “Even for a white-ass English guy, you’re pale as a ghost. You lost a lot of blood; maybe you should check back with the doc or maybe eat a lot of liver. My aunt used to fry up--”

“*Get out.*”

Gunn froze, eyes locked on the man who stood rigid in the shadows next to the sofa, his hand gripping its back. A tremor passed though the lean man’s frame and his head slumped. Wes looked bad. Real bad. Thinner than he’d ever seen him and whiter than he thought it was humanly possible to be. Haggard, too. Usually the epitome of proper British etiquette, at least as far as the street-wise youth knew of such things, the soft-spoken embodiment of civil decorum, Wes looked really rough, and mean. Briefly, he wondered if the man was eating. “You know, it might not be a bad idea--”

“Must I endure your endless prattle?” The man snapped in a hoarse whisper. “Surely it is not beyond your capability to see that I’m hardly in a position to toss you out. Would you kindly leave of your own freewill, or are you gaining far too much pleasure from the show?” 

“Excuse me?” He frowned. “Show?”

“Angel sent you, didn’t he?”

“Angel?” The name fell from his lips in astonishment. That was the last person Gunn would have consulted concerning such a visit. Even to save Fred’s life, any contact with Wyndam-Pryce was foolhardy at best. “Why would you ask such a--”

“Feel free to report to the bloody bastard that I’ve never felt better.” His fading voice deepened with sarcasm. “Or tell him whatever the hell you fancy. Just get out.”

“Why would you think that Angel sent me?” Bewilderment furrowed his brow and he moved farther into the room. He’d never heard the mild-toned Englishman use such obscenities before. Gunn had been on the receiving end of his haughty upper-class arrogance a time or two; he’d seen the man all stiff and prissy. When cornered, Wes could wear his Britishness like a white-ass, up-tight pompous twit. But this…this was not the Wes he knew. Crass and mean. “Angel doesn’t even know I’m here.”

A rueful laugh, deep and low, emanated from the almost waiflike form fighting to retain his upright stance. The hand he held rigidly at his side, suddenly balled into a fist and he wrapped his arm tightly against his gut, slumping slightly toward the sofa. In a disturbing wave of memories, Gunn was reminded of the gunshot wound that almost claimed his friend’s life.

Ex-friend. He stoically reminded himself. 

Gunn pulled up short and hardened his resolve. “I said my piece. Gave the devil his due.”

“Interesting analogy. I dare say, I’ve been called much worse as of late. No matter.” His thin shoulders gave a slight shrug and he whispered, “Kindly close the door on your way out.”

“Whatever.” Gunn turned on his heel and marched toward the exit. “None of us will darken your door again.” His hand gripped the knob and he slammed it shut behind him. Trembling with anger, he paused in the hall and leaned against the frame. *Damn the man.* Why did he bother to come here? Why did he waste his time and risk Angel’s displeasure in the process? The souled vampire was in enough pain as it was; he didn’t need to worry about his companions going behind his back and consorting with the man who’d stolen his son. Angel trusted him. They were tight.

Trust.

Trust was a fragile thing. Life on the streets taught the young man that, years ago. Be careful who you turn your back on or you might just pull out a knife. Gunn never let his guard down easy. He let it down for English…

…And pulled out a knife.

*Damn the man.* 

His anger slowly seethed, growing as the minutes passed. He really needed to be on his way, to head back to the hotel and the others. He never knew when Cordy might get one of her visions. Even though it had been days since they had any new clients, he might be needed.

He found his hand on the door, fingers wrapped around the knob and he was puzzled by his own actions. Confronting Wesley again would serve no useful purpose. Besides, the man looked like shit; he was his own worst enemy. Why would he think that Angel sent him? The question suddenly confused him. 

Gunn surprised himself by turning the knob and slowly pushing the door ajar. The apartment was awash in shadows, the room now vacant. Wes must have wandered off to bed. It was just as well. He turned to leave…

…And heard a moan.

He frowned and turned back into the room. His eyes shifted through the dim and for a moment he thought, perhaps he had imagined the sound. Then he saw the figure slumped on the floor behind the sofa and pulled in his breath in surprise. Wes was curled on his side, his arms wrapped tightly around his abdomen, his thin frame trembling in pain.

“What the…?”

Wesley gave a start and struggled to sit up. “I told you to leave.”

“Like hell, I’m leavin’. You look like crap, man. What’s with you anyway? Those stupid doctors should have never sent you home. You need--”

“I need my god damned privacy. Get out!” He pushed to a sitting position and glared at the intruder. Saying “privacy” in that prissy little British way that set Gunn’s teeth on edge.

“You *need* a doctor,” Gunn countered, advancing on the man. “Let’s go.”

“I hardly consider that I am any of your concern.” Wesley fought to rise, grimaced, and the skin beneath his stubble-covered cheeks grew deathly pale. He clutched his abdomen in pain, sank back to his knees and hissed, “Bloody, soddin’ hell.”

“That’s it! We’re out of here.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

“Unfortunately, the antibiotics we had Mr. Wyndam-Pryce on to combat the original infection from his throat injury, left him vulnerable to secondary infection. He really should have come in days ago. His system is severally compromised.” Doctor McBride’s face was set in grim lines as he addressed the stoic young man in the waiting room. “We’ve started him on a second round of a new antibiotic that hopefully will bring his fever down and get this thing under control. Given his medical history--” The doctor gave Gunn a pointed stare, paused, then continued slowly, “--And his current resistance to penicillin and most conventional antibiotics, we’re fast running out of options with the man. Every time I turn around, it appears, I have him as a patient again. You wouldn’t happen to know why that is?”

Fred stood watching the exchange with wide, anxious eyes from across the brilliantly lit room, her heart beating frantically with worry. Her keen perceptions were noting every word and nuance of the conversation as the distinguished older black doctor addressed the younger black man who shifted uneasily beneath the other man’s intense stare and looked aside.

“The dude’s…” Gunn shrugged and offered, “…accident prone?”

“Accident prone?” Dr. McBride’s expression darkened as he repeated the phrase. “I take it, you’re his friend. You’ve been here every time he’s been brought in, and I’ve been authorized to discuss his medical condition with you in the past. If I’m not mistaken, you took him home after that, let me see, what was it? Yes. A gunshot wound last year. He was lucky he didn’t lose part of his intestines that time. I believe, you’re listed as his--” he glanced at the chart in his hand, “ –as his point of contact. Mr. Wyndam-Pryce could use a friend right now. In light of everything that’s happened, I’d advise--”

“Look, the man’s made his own choices lately and they don’t include me,” Gunn snapped.

The doctor was taken aback by the outburst and momentarily paused. “Really? Well….I see.” He glanced again at the chart in his hand then up to meet the young man’s eyes. “Be that as it may, I would advise you to set aside whatever differences you may be having right now and talk with your friend. He’s not been entirely forthcoming with me, and that’s understandable under these circumstances, but he needs to talk with someone.”

“You’re the genius who released him in the first place.” Gunn returned the man’s stare with a defiant one of his own. “If you knew this could happen, you should have had the brains to keep him here.” 

The doctor frowned then continued as if speaking to a disrespectful child. “When I released my patient, I assure you, he was well on the way to a full and miraculous recovery, given the severity of the injuries he’d received at that point. I’m addressing his current condition, Mr.Gunn. He’s experienced blood loss over the last few days and he’s developed a nasty infection that could have easily become septic if you hadn’t brought him in when you did. I’d advise bed rest as well as the antibiotics. He needs to stay off his feet. Several ligaments in his right leg are torn so he really shouldn’t be using the leg and his knee is swollen.”

“Whoa up there.” Gunn threw up his hand to forestall the doctor. “You’ve lost me. I thought his neck was carved, you know, Thanksgiving style. This is the first I’ve heard anything about a ligament or anything else for that matter.”

“I’m sorry.” McBride blinked in surprise, at a momentary loss, then continued with hesitation, “You convinced him to come in. I was under the impression that you knew…that he’d confided--”

“Look, like I said, Wes and I got nothin’ to say to one another. Whatever he’s in to, he’s seen fit to exclude me from it these days. He’s got his own life to live and it don’t include me.”

The doctor’s face hardened at the outburst. He pulled himself up to his full height to address the angry young man and the waiflike girl who suddenly slipped to his side, her eyes wide and anxious with obvious concern as they studied the doctor. “I don’t know what your current differences may be, Mr. Gunn, or what your past relationship may have been with my patient, but I’ve been treating Mr. Pryce these past few years on an alarmingly frequent basis. Put bluntly, the man’s been though hell. He’s a walking medical miracle and I should write a paper on him. Not that Jama would believe it. That aside, what you people are in to, I’m not sure I want to know. My only concern is for the welfare of my patient. He needs to talk with someone.” 

“You’re not laying this mess off on me, doc. I’ve done my deed for the day. I brought him in, now he’s yours.”

“Charles!” Fred seized his arm and tugged, her heart constricting in pain at the harshness of his tone. “Wesley needs us. This foolishness has gone on long enough. I understand that Angel’s hurtin’. We’re all hurtin’, but we’re a family.”

“He ain’t my family and he ain’t yours. You’re my girl and we’re leaving.” He grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the exit.

“Angel?” The doctor frowned at the mention of the name, forestalling the man. “He’s another of Mr. Pryce’s *ex friends,* I take it. The one who caused all the commotion on the night he was admitted with the neck wound?”

“He had good reason.”

“Mr. Gunn, since you insist on being blunt, I’m going to be straight up with you. After that assault, I encouraged my patient to file charges against Mr. Angel. He declined. Now, I don’t know if this is due to some misguided sense of loyalty he has toward you people or an understandable fear for his own safety, but if I had my way about it, that man would be in jail.”

“You don’t know the facts!” Gunn’s temper flared and he stormed toward the doctor, Fred tugging desperately on his sheave. “You have no idea what Wes did.”

“Nor do I care to know. As I’ve said, my patient hasn’t been entirely forthcoming with all the details. But let me assure you, I’m no fool. I’ve no doubt that this Angel person is responsible for a great deal more than Pryce has been willing to admit. I can’t force him to talk with me nor can I force him to press charges against this maniac, but while he remains in this hospital and under my care, I can and will protect him. You can pass this on to your friend. If he approaches my patient again, I will contact security, have him forcibly removed and incarcerated.”

Gunn fumed in anger and moved forward only to have Fred pull him back.

“Come on, Charles. Let’s go,” she pleaded. “We have to at least stop by and check on Wesley before we head back to the hotel.”

He cast her a defiant glare.

“*Please*.” Her dark eyes moistened with pain. The events of the last few weeks were tying her little stomach in knots. Couldn’t they see the foolishness of their actions? Everyone was hurting and no one was willing to make the moves necessary to begin the healing they all so desperately needed. Now Wesley had relapsed with possibly fatal consequences, and he deserved to be paid the common decency of a single visit before they left. She wasn’t going to allow Charles to persuade her otherwise. Every time she tried to contact Wesley, Charles stood in her way. No more!

The doctor’s expression softened when he turned to the tiny young woman valiantly defying her enraged companion. “Miss Burkle, as I’ve said, he could use a friend right now, someone to talk with. We have counselors on staff, but he doesn’t seem inclined to open up to a medical professional or the authorities, and I can’t force him to. Unfortunately, he’s sedated right now. But I wouldn’t object if you wished to look in on him.”

“We need to get back--”

“*Charles.* You can sit out here if you want.” The whisper of a girl held her ground. “But *I’m* going in.”

 

~*~*~*~*~ 

 

Fred froze in the doorway, taken aback by the sight of the pale figure sleeping in the bed. If possible, Wesley looked far worse than the last time she’d seen him here not so long ago. His face was gaunt, the colorless cheeks beneath days of unshaven growth, chiseled beyond their usual delicate grace to almost skeletal starkness. Was he eating? She pulled in her breath and slipped into the room to stand at the foot of the bed.

At least he was sleeping. Even as heavily sedated as he was, any sleep at this point was better than none. She wondered if he was getting much rest these days. It was a strange feeling, this not knowing the simplest things about someone they held so dear only weeks before. She couldn’t shake the certainty that it was all some vicious nightmare from which they would soon all awake. It was wrong. So terribly, terribly wrong. Why couldn’t the others see that? Angel, she could understand. His hurt and rage might never heal. Winifred had to begrudgingly admit that had she been in Angel’s shoes, she might never have been able to forgive Wesley either. But the others….

“Why?” She whispered into the almost chilling silence of the room at the passive form lying in the bed. “Why didn’t you trust us? Why didn’t you come to us? It was all for nothing!”

He stirred briefly and her heart gave an unexpected flutter in her chest. She moved closer, resting her hands on the footboard of the bed near the chart hanging there. Nervously, she fidgeted, tapping her fingers against the clipboard and watching Wesley’s face for any sign of consciousness. Her eyes passed over the jagged gash marring the pale white throat and she shuddered. The doctor had called him a miracle patient and how well she knew this to be true. That ugly slice, so dangerously near his carotid artery, mere inches from a brush with his own mortality. Gone. Forever.

She squeezed her eyes shut. If the blood loss hadn’t killed him that night, the insidious infection from hours lying in a darkened field, dirty and alone, like so much discarded rubbish, so easily could have claimed him. The thought made her tremble. Even now, it seemed, he was plagued by infection, his immune system compromised by the overuse of antibiotics. Trachea damage. He almost lost his voice, and as a linguist and mystic, aside from his mind, that was one of his most valued assets. The smooth-toned British lilt was replaced by a husky resonance, or so she’d been told by Gunn. At least, he still had a voice. It seemed that poor Wesley was the member of their team most destined to suffer the greatest physical consequences for “fighting the good fight.” 

Their team?

She caught her breath, disbelieving she had that thought. How easy it was to fall back into old patterns. Watching the gentle passivity of Wesley’s face, tracing the molded contours of his cheeks and contemplating the brilliant blue of his eyes. Ever the steadfast guardian of their destinies. He was a constant in their lives. So easily taken for granted. How many times had he placed himself between her and certain death without a second thought?

*A good man…*

“Girl, we gotta go.” 

A familiar voice from the open doorway disturbed her thoughts and she turned to find Gunn standing there, an expectant look on his face. He fidgeted slightly, avoiding so much as a glance at the pale figure beneath the sheets on the bed.

“One minute.”

“We gotta get back, can’t let the others do all the cleanup and painting on their own.”

Fred nodded but turned away, absently fingering Wes’s chart while studying the sleeping form. Impulsively, she snatched the clipboard up and quickly scanned the first page. Medicinal doses, schedules and whatnot…

“Maybe you shouldn’t mess with that.” Gunn reached for the chart.

Fred avoided his outstretched hand and turned the page. Notes. Written in Dr. McBride’s almost indiscernible penmanship. Miscellaneous observations. Conclusions. She frowned. Blood loss, infection, bruising, internal bleeding, rectal tearing….

The color drained from her face and she almost dropped the notes. 

“Fred?”

Gunn’s concerned voice penetrated the growing fog of her mind as the doctor’s comments returned to her with glaring clarity. When McBride spoke of counselors and authorities, she believed he was pushing Wesley to reveal the details of what happened in the park. But this wasn’t a relapse; this was a vicious assault. How could she have been so stupid? She whirled around and faced her companion. “Get me back to the hotel.”

“Sure thing.” He nodded, taking the clipboard from her hand and returning it to its hook on the end of the bed. “We don’t belong here anyway.”

“*Now!*”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

“Where’s angel?”

“It’s about time you two freeloaders got back.” Cordelia, clad in jeans and her hair tied back in a scarf, looked up from where she kneeled in the center of the lobby, hands raw from scrubbing the obstinate pentagram currently embellishing the floor. “This thing’s not budging. Groo, sweetie, be a dear and bring me another bucket of water, will you?”

“Angel?” Fred persisted, standing frozen in the entrance. Her delicate features set in determined lines.

“Up stairs.” She swiped a wayward strand of pale hair from her eyes and motioned with a gloved hand toward the staircase. “Still contemplating the earth shattering merits of purple verses aqua paint swatches. If you’re going to give him hell about something, be sure and include this infernal *thing.*” She threw up her hands in exasperation. “He’s going to have to fork over the big bucks for a really huge area rug--”

The wisp of a girl dashed past Cordelia and up the stairs, a bewildered Gunn trailing in her wake.

“Hello, to you, too,” Cordy grumbled, shrugged and returned to her scrubbing. “Could sure use a little help around here, people.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

“Fred!” Angel looked up from where he stood in the center of the burnout room amidst the rubble of the earthquake and charred furniture. He smiled slightly and held up the swatches fanned between his fingers. “I could really use your opinion.”

“We just saw Wesley.”

The room fell deathly quiet at her blunt announcement and the vampire’s expression darkened dangerously as the paint samples fell from his fingers and scattered to the floor at his feet.

“*Fred?*” Gunn gasped, disbelieving she’d dared to mention the man’s name in Angel’s presence.

Angel’s eyes smoldered as they bore into the young woman framed in the doorway.

She held her ground without flinching and slowly moved into the room to confront her employer. “I’m not here to play games with you. Not that I’m trying to sound bossy or anything, but this has gone on long enough--”

“Fred.” Gunn quickly moved to intervene when he saw the vampire’s smoldering expression. “This ain’t a good topic of discussion. Let’s say we--”

“You’re free to leave, Charles. But I’m fixin’ to ask what I’ve come to ask.” She pulled in her breath and steeled her nerves. “I don’t intend to get into an argument with you, I just have one question, and I expect an honest yes or no answer. You owe me that much.”

Angel stood silent and immobile in the center of the room.

“Was it…*you?*” she hissed.

For a breathless moment, she thought the man was going to refuse to respond. Then slowly he closed his eyes, had the decency to flinch, sighed and nodded.

Fred cut back a curse of outrage, stormed across the room, leaned near and rasped against his ear, “*He should have staked you!*”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

//Angel awoke with a start, the echoes of his own cries reverberating in the room around him. His body was trembling violently and he fought to control it. These nightmares were slowly driving him insane. They came with such vivid realism every time he tired to sleep, each more detailed than the last. Like the bewitching dreams he’d shared with Darla in what seemed a lifetime ago. Dreams that had threatened his very sanity then and now.

He sat up from where he’d fallen asleep on the floor and braced his back against the bed. The fingers of his hands clawed at the dust-covered boards of the floor, cutting gashes in the wood and leaving splinters in his hands. He squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his face into his palms.

Connor. 

Every waking moment he thought of nothing else. The loss was the deepest pain he’d ever felt, an agony beyond words. The culmination of all his earthly sins rising up for retribution in that one sacrifice – the loss of his only begotten son.

But when he dreamed….

It was not Connor he dreamt of.

It was not his son’s face that haunted his nightmares nor caused him to wake trembling and crying out into the shadows. Why? He staggered to his feet and surveyed the room around him, absently studying the half painted walls awash in purple. 

“Wes, why didn’t you trust me!”

The silent walls returned no answer.//


	3. Regarding Wesley

~*~*

“I fought to live so I could see my friends again. To explain to the people I loved…and trusted…my side of what happened.” ~ Wesley Wyndam-Pryce

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Fred lingered in the doorway, wringing her tiny hands and studying the slumbering form of Wesley in the bed. He was asleep, his face almost peaceful in the subdued illumination of the hospital room, shadows tracing gentle patterns over the chiseled cheeks, less stark and gaunt than even a week before. Doctor McBride was making him eat, keeping him here, in fact, for his own good. At least that’s what Fred secretly suspected. His infection was arrested days ago and a blush of color had returned to his face and a sparkle to the blue of his eyes rather than the stormy gray that shadowed them the first, angry time he fixed them on her when he found her here, invading his privacy….

*** The week before…

“Get out!”

“I just….I just came to see how you were doing. Doctor McBride said that you were awake and--”

“You came. You saw. Now leave.”

“Wesley?” She swallowed, still lingering in the entryway, drawing deep breaths to steady her heart. “God, Wesley, I’m so sorry. Things have gotten so bad.”

He held up a hand to stall her comments. “Surely you’ve not come for my assistance? One can only do so much; I haven’t the resources nor the energies to aid you at this time.”

“Oh, no. Gosh no.” She hurried to add. “That wasn’t what I meant at all. This. Us. Everything. It shouldn’t have gone this far. We should have talked. Listened to what you had to say.”

“I hardly consider that any of you are the least interested in what I have to say.” He turned and stared at the stark white walls, dismissing her. “The lot of you made that clear.”

“We were wrong.” She dared to venture near the bed, her eyes frantically studying the hollow features of his face. The darkened shadow of a beard covering the familiar lines, the hint of a cleft in his chin. His skin so pale that his eyes appeared a glacier blue whenever he fixed them on her. “Angel was wrong.”

He gave a start at the mention of the name, stiffened and whirled back to face her. 

She swallowed hard at the look on his face and took a step back, continuing with trepidation, “What he did…I…” Wesley interrupted with a chuckle deep in his throat that frightened the young woman. “Sorry. I ramble sometimes, say the wrong things. Guess you’d prefer it if I didn’t exactly, you know, mention that name. All this not mentioning this person to that person, and this person to that person, it gets pretty confusing sometimes. I just wish that everything was normal again and everyone was mentioning everyone to everyone. Know what I mean?”

He stared at her face without blinking. 

She took it as a good sign and moved closer to the bed. “Doctor McBride says you’re getting better. All those antibiotics can really be nasty, almost kind of make you sicker than the stuff they fight. Upset your stomach and all. At least, I know that’s how it is with me. Can’t keep anything down. But Doctor McBride, he says that you’re eating just fine, and that’s a good thing on account of the fact that you’re awful thin. Pale too, scary kind of pale, like a vampire…” She caught her breath when she realized what she said, then whispered, “Sorry.”

“I’ve finally figured it out.” Wesley responded without inflection. “They sent you here for the insidious purpose of driving me insane. Quite diabolical, actually.”

Fred blinked in surprise then dropped her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she breathed into the silence that fell around them.

He chucked, a mirthless sound that echoed in the room then he settled back to regard the tiny figure of a woman who’d invaded his solitude. “Did Angel send you?” he asked dryly.

“Goodness no.” She looked up, astonished that he’d asked. “They’ve got no idea I’m here. Things have been kinda slow lately, not many clients. A couple came in asking for you the other day, though. The cutest little couple, just so silly, but awfully sweet.”

“They’ve no idea you’re here? Their little lamb has escaped the fold.” He braced himself against his pillows and studied her with expressionless eyes that stared from his rugged face. “I shan’t keep you, little lamb; scurry home before they discover you’re keeping company with the big, bad wolf.”

“*Wesley.*” A frown creased her brow. “You’re not the big, bad wolf. Things will get better, truly they will. Everyone’s hurting right now, but sooner or later--”

“You presume a great deal, Miss Burkle, if it is your assumption that I desire such a reconciliation. Has it not occurred to you that I might wish to retain my autonomy? Perhaps it would be best if I phrased it in a manner which leaves no debate.” He leaned forward, his expression hardening. “Angel and his lot can go to bleedin’ hell.”

“I know you don’t mean that. I understand--”

“You understand *nothing,*” he hissed. “Are you honestly so daft as to believe I should desire a reconciliation with a man, no a *thing* that is hardly a man at all but a vile creature of the night, who sought my demise through suffocation? Woman, are you mad?”

“Sometimes I think so. Yes.” Fred dropped her head, causing her hair to veil her face and clasped her hands in front of her to steel her nerves. The gentle-toned Wesley seldom spoke to her so harshly and with such vulgarity; not since Billy and the night he attacked her. It was hard to confront the venom in his voice. The memory made her tremble, but she pushed it away and fought to be brave for Wesley’s sake. She knew all along this anger was coming. Knew that it was necessary. If he chose to direct it at her, fine. At least he was directing it outward and not inward. She knew from her years in Pylea and the horrors she never spoke of, even to Gunn, how wounded humans dug themselves into holes to hide. If you pulled them out, they came out fighting. Wesley was going to come out fighting, but his rage was something she was willing to absorb. “Look, I can understand if you don’t want to talk about it or anything and I’m not asking you to. Everything’s just gotten so crazy. I never would have dreamed this could happen. I just want things to be the way they were.”

“Far be it for me to disillusion you, Fred. But things shall never be as they *were.* Now leave. Return to your family before you’re soiled by my presence.”

“Don’t say such things!” Tears burned behind her eyes. “I know it’s foolish to dream that it will ever be the same. That it *could* ever be the same. Maybe it would have been possible, you know, if things hadn’t happened…with Angel and all.”

His expression darkened dangerously. “Angel?”

“You know.” She bit into her lip and continued slowly, “Wesley, I know what happened. What really happened with Angel at your apartment, what he did to--”

“*Bloody hell!* Have you people nothing better to do than to engage in sordid gossip about me? I don’t suppose Angel was kind enough to supply the intricacies of our encounter. Is that why you’ve stopped by? Were you hoping I might enlighten you as to the details? More fodder to feed your morbid appetites--” 

“No! You don’t understand. We’ve never discussed this, Gunn and the others. Never.” She shook her head in fervent denial. “The others have no idea what happened. They refuse to discuss the issue of you at all.”

“I shouldn’t be at all surprised, nameless, faceless entity that I’ve become.” He fixed her with an icy stare. “Leave.”

“I’m sorry. I know I’ve bumbled this. But back in Pylea when things like this happened there wasn’t a lot of time for formalities. You rant, you rave, you throw a lot of things, preferably not in the direction of the person who’s trying to help--”

“Must I toss you out or would you kindly leave of your own accord?” The frail man started to rise from the hospital bed, his face set in lines of determination. He faltered and the girl hurried to his side, pushing him back.

“Please don’t get up. Your leg, the doctor said you need to stay off your leg. Those ligaments need to heal and not to mention all the other stuff.”

He shoved her away, sending her reeling into the side of a chair that smacked her calf with a bruising blow. She flinched in pain, caught her balance, and turned to confront him. “I’m sorry, Wesley, I didn’t mean to make this worse, I swear. You know I’m always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. But one thing I know for certain; you can’t deal with this alone. Hate Angel if you have to. God, I think I hate him, if I think about it at all.” She shook her head in confusion. “I just can’t absorb all this. I know that you trusted him. It’s just so unreal that Angel could--”

“Get out!”

“Alright. Okay.” She backed toward the door, her eyes locked on the figure in the bed.

He turned away and stared blankly at the wall.

She froze in the exit and drew a ragged breath. How could she leave him like this so empty and alone, his gaunt face devoid of all emotion? She squeezed her eyes shut and reached deep within, gathering the resources she hadn’t tapped since her years in Pylea, strength she prayed she would never need again to say the things she had to say. “Wesley?” 

No response. 

“I know how you feel. In Pylea, I….” Her voice fell to a whisper. “I trusted someone, too. A man. In Pylea…”

He turned, his eyes widened by surprise. “Fred?”

But the girl was gone.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Fred shook off the uncomfortable memory as she stood lingering in the hall, watching the gentle rise and fall of Wesley’s chest, and studying the serene lines of his face. Only when he slept, did he look so peaceful these days. Someone had shaved him or perhaps he’d shaved himself. He looked younger and somehow more vulnerable with the familiar angles of his face revealed from beneath the stubble. His hair had grown into an unruly mass of dark curls that scattered across the stark white of the pillow where he rested his head. No doubt he would cut it soon. He stirred, and she moved into the room, closing the door behind her.

Soon he would wake and throw her out as he did every time she persistently returned. Her insistence on coming here was an ever-increasing source of tension between her and Gunn. It wasn’t that they actually discussed the fact that she came here only to be rebuffed, no far from it. They never spoke of it at all. Wesley was a topic no one dared to breach at the Hyperion, but Gunn knew where she went and it angered him. He felt it was a betrayal of Angel and maybe he was right, but Gunn didn’t care to know the facts concerning why she came. So they fell into a conspiracy of silence. Wesley needed her whether he realized it or not, and she had to keep trying to reach him. 

What Wesley did hurt them all deeply. 

What Angel did was unforgivable.

She ventured near the bed and looked down at him as he slept and contemplated the reason she’d come today. He deserved to know that Connor was back. By some unforeseen twist of fate none of them could make sense of, Connor had returned to them. Wesley would probably know the answers that eluded them, but the group was far too stubborn to ask for his help.

The Englishman gave a sudden start in his sleep and cried out, throwing up his arm as if to ward off a blow. Fred leaned near and gently took his hand, holding it safely in her palm. The minutes passed as she stroked his slender fingers and slowly he settled as his breathing calmed. He turned away from her and curled onto his side on the far corner of the bed, forcing her to release his hand as he snuggled his lanky body into a ball. The gesture reminded Fred of a small child and a smile touched her lips. It made her wonder what Wesley was like when he was young. All arms and legs like a baby bird? She silently laughed at the image her thoughts conveyed. His mother must have adored him.

At least he was sleeping soundly. Maybe she should leave.

Still she lingered.

Reaching out, she rested her hand against the warmth of his pajama-clad back, feeling the lean muscles trembling beneath her touch. Wesley was shaking almost violently in his sleep. The revelation startled her and she gently caressed the coiled body trembling under the sheets, moving her hand over his back to his shoulders and down again in what she hoped was a soothing touch. Slowly he settled and fell deeper into sleep. She removed her hand and the shaking resumed. A frown furrowed her brow. 

“Poor, Wesley, what horrors haunt your dreams?” she quietly whispered. Knowing, only too well, what sort of demons lurked in the shadows of his mind. Memories hiding and waiting for the release of dreams so they could torture his soul. They were the same monsters that haunted her nights. She shuddered and returned her hand to the curved back and began to softly massage. He settled and the trembling subsided.

She sighed, studied the sleeping man beneath her hand, then impulsively bent down, slipped off her shoes and hose, then settled onto the bed. For a moment, she hesitated, contemplating the wisdom of her actions before lifting the sheets and sliding into bed next to Wesley and tightly curling against his back. The bed was small, but Fred’s slight frame molded easily against the man’s body in a comfortable fit. His breathing calmed and the tremors faded as he fell deeply into slumber. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, surprised to discover how soothing he felt curled beneath her. She’d never slept with a man; he smelled…nice, a salty mixture of musk with a hint of shampoo from the freshly washed curls that brushed the top her head. She snuggled near and allowed herself to drift into a, thankfully, dreamless sleep.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Warmth. Fred sighed and cuddled closer to the source that penetrated the comfort of her sleep. Strong arms drew her near; hands stroked down the small of her back and came to rest on the rise of her behind, pulling her closer. She relished the touch and snuggled into the comfortable presence, burying her cheek against a solid chest. Someone moaned. Deeply. Her eyelids fluttered and she stirred when fingers gripped her hips and thrust her close to a source of undeniable heat. 

Solid and hard.

Her eyes flew open in surprise.

Entwined in a pair of arms, Fred found herself pressed flush against her bed partner’s body, wrapped tightly in his embrace, a persistent heat burning the length of her stomach through the scant fabric of the dress she wore. She pulled in her breath and cursed her impulsive nature. Wesley was sound asleep but molded fast against her, his arms holding her close. He moaned and cuddled closer, arched and pressed himself against the softness of her body. Her eyes grew large. Between her flimsy dress and the pajamas he wore there was no denying what was making its presence felt against her stomach. Fred tried to squirm free, but his arms held tight and he nuzzled into her neck, murmuring in his sleep. A name. Her name.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Wesley was dreaming about her. The revelation took her by surprise. Somehow she hadn’t expected that the man might actually dream about her, not *that* kind of dream anyway. Heat flushed her cheeks and she tried to push away without waking the man wrapped around her. If he was angry with her before, waking up and finding her here, like this, was going to enrage him. Foolish. Foolish, girl. Momma always told her to curb her impetuous nature or one day it would be the death of her.

Momma was always right. 

Wesley nestled close and rubbed himself against her, hard and insistent. She gasped and tried to squirm free, struggling to unwind his arms from around her waist so she could slip from the bed. Cheeks burning with embarrassment and something she couldn’t quite define, Fred hissed beneath her breath, “Oh my!”

“Oh my, indeed.”

Winifred froze. 

Slowly she raised her eyes and met a pair of glacier blue ones staring back from the depths of an unreadable face. “Sorry?” she offered lamely and fought to push free. Wesley held tight, and for a moment, confusion clouded his eyes, then slowly his arms unfurled, setting her free. She moved from his embrace but didn’t sit up; instead she lay transfixed, studying his face. 

“Why?”

His question reached her ears, the barest of whispers, and she struggled for an answer. Something in the tone of that one simple word spoken in the awkwardness of the moment twisted her heart. Anger, she expected, but not this quiet resignation. She searched his face, wondering what response he was looking for.

“Sorry,” she repeated. “I wasn’t thinking.” She moved to rise, but he reached for her hand, holding her in place where she lay beside him. “I didn’t mean…”

“Surely…you knew,” he whispered. “What I feel.”

“I did. But I didn’t.” She curled onto her side and rose up on an elbow, resting her chin in her hand. Near but not touching the man who lay watching her with a bewildered light in his eyes. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Clearly.”

An uncomfortable silence fell between them and she dropped her head, hiding her face behind the veil of her hair. Wes leaned up on his elbow and reached out, taking a strand of her dark locks and gently weaving it through his fingers. She raised her head and looked into his face, astonished to realize, for the first time in weeks, she found no resentment staring back. “I was only trying to help,” she hurried to explain. “You weren’t sleeping all that well and I thought that, you know, it might help is all. I didn’t expect…I wasn’t thinking. I’m kinda like that sometimes, you know, act before I think.” 

He chuckled softly and shook his head. “Only you.”

“Connor!” The name suddenly sprang from her lips.

Wesley frowned at the abrupt change of topics.

“He’s back! Wesley, he’s back. That’s what I came to tell you. I almost forgot.”

“Truly?” The light in his eyes quickly brightened, chasing the shadows aside, and for a moment, his face looked almost like the Wes of old. “How?”

“We aren’t certain. Something punched through, causing a rip in reality and Connor’s back.”

“Thank God.” The man squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head, drawing a torn breath. He fell silent again and the minutes passed.

Fred reached out and rested her hand against his cheek. “I’m so sorry, you know, about everything. Things should have never gone this far. I know that you were only trying to help Connor and keep him safe. You did it for him and for Angel…” She bit her lip, realizing that she’d said the “A” word. Why was she such a ditz? When he didn’t respond or raise his head, she gently stroked his cheek encouraged by the fact that he didn’t pull away. “What he did…” The man stiffened beneath her touch, but she forged ahead. “What he took from you, Wesley, it was wrong. *He* was wrong.”

Silence fell between them.

She allowed the quiet to settle around them; heartened by the fact that Wes made no move to flinch from the touch of her hand against his cheek. She softly caressed the clean-shaven skin, traced the sharp lines of the cheekbones, trailing down to briefly brush his lips then moving past his chin, touching the tips of her fingers to the slight cleft as she contemplated the jagged scar carved into his pale white throat. She drew in her breath. It was frightening, raw and red. She reached toward the scar, then paused and pulled back. 

“No one even asked.”

The words were spoken in the barest of whispers, and at first Fred wasn’t sure she heard them. She leaned near and gently placed her hand against his cheek.

“Even Angel, the last time I saw him. When he….when he was at my apartment. He never asked.” The man drew a deep breath without raising his head and continued softly. “I would have brought him back. You have to know, I would have brought him back when the danger was past.”

A pang of sadness stabbed her chest, and her hand stoking his cheek, faltered. They should have asked. It was rash of them all to think that Wesley didn’t have a plan, that he would take Connor and never bring him back.

“I was dying, bleeding to death, there was no doubt. But I wanted to live, fought to live, to be with the people I….loved. To explain. But no one even asked. It was as if I died that night in the park, cold and alone.” Wesley fell silent and only the sound of his labored breathing rose to fill the void.

Fred sat beside him, gently stroking his cheek, allowing the moments to pass without comment. Then softly she agreed, “Yes, we should have asked you. Angel should have asked when he…when he came to your apartment, he should have talked with you.”

“I suppose it’s understandable that we didn’t talk at my apartment,” he continued quietly, his head still bowed. “After all, it was rather uncivilized of me not to offer him tea.”

“Tea!” She exclaimed in surprise. 

“Any proper Englishman knows, one always offers tea to guests.”

Fred gasped at the absurdity of the comment and a giggle escaped her lips. She threw her hand up to cover her mouth, her eyes wide. Wesley’s shoulders began to shake, and she realized the man was laughing, quietly, deeply, genuinely laughing. 

She snickered and dropped her hand from her lips. Tea! Only an Englishman would think to offer his rapist tea. She rested her hand against his back, and feeling the vibrations, allowed herself to laugh. It was all so insanely absurd. She dropped her head against his back and absorbed the tremors coursing through his slender body. 

The minutes passed, and he drew a ragged breath, pulling it deep into his lungs, then the tremors started again. The girl realized her companion was no longer laughing when quietly he began to sob. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close, relieved that he didn’t pull away. He rested against her without protest; allowing her to stroke the length of his back, up to the muscles of his shoulders, tense and quivering beneath her hand, then back down again, in long soothing sweeps. She drew him close to her breasts, running her fingers though the curly mass of unruly hair and allowing his tears to soak the front of her dress. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a beginning. Nothing would ever be the same for Wesley, she knew, but at least he wasn’t alone. He nestled against her, drawing deep trembling breaths into his lungs. She bowed her head and pressed her lips to the dampened hair, then gently rested her cheek against his curls. Slowly, the shaking subsided and the man grew calm, lying quietly against her.

“He didn’t even beat me. Not a proper beating.” 

The words rose to her ears in the barest of whispers and she had to strain to realize he’d spoken. “What?”

“A true man would have forced his assailant to beat him senseless, kill him even, before submitting to such an abomination. I was both conscious and breathing when he…when he left me. One might hardly consider that I offered any resistance whatsoever.”

“He almost killed you, Wesley! How can you say such a thing?” She gasped in horror and wrapped her arms tighter around the man still huddled against her. “That’s insane.”

“A proper man would have forced the bastard to kill him first. But then, one can hardly consider me a proper man, can one?” A mirthless chuckle rose from his throat. “The monster knew, he knew…about me.”

“This wasn’t your fault and there was nothing you could have done to stop it. It has nothing to do with what sort of man you are. You’re a good man, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. I’ve told you that before, and I’ll say it again. That’s the only truth you need to hold in your heart. You’re a good man. No matter what was done to you.”

“He *knew.*” His voice fell to a whisper. “He’s always known.”

“Listen to me.” She gripped his shoulders tightly and dropped her cheek to the top of his head, hugging him close. “Forgive me for sayin’ it, but I don’t give a horse’s butt what you think he knows about you, cause his opinion doesn’t matter.”

“I was attracted to him…” Wesley’s head shot up, a look of horror on his face at what he’d just revealed. He paled.

Fred blinked in surprise. “Oh…well.” She drew a deep breath then threw up her hands. “We all are! He’s a hero…or was. I don’t know what to think any more. But everyone’s attracted to a hero. That’s the way the world works. That doesn’t give him the right to…to do what he did. It’s foolish for you to feel guilty because of what someone else did. He should be ashamed for hurting someone who cared so deeply about him. If you ask me, he should be horsewhipped. Only, I guess if I thought about it, I wouldn’t whip a horse, so I’m not really sure if I should have used that analogy. So…” She trailed then shook her head. “Sorry. I guess I’m ramblin’ again. That’s the last thing you need right now, sweetie.”

“Actually, it’s just the thing.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry. What I meant to say is your rambling is precisely what I do need just now. You’ve endured far worse adversity than I, without complaint. You’re quite remarkable, actually.” He allowed her to gather him close once more, and he rested against her as the silence rose around them.

The minutes passed and she felt the tension in his body begin to drain beneath the gentle stroke of her touch as she ran her hands down the length of his back.

“Pylea?” Suddenly he spoke, startling her. “You said there was a man in Pylea that you trusted who hurt you.”

Fred gave a start and her body grew cold. “Like Angel hurt you. Yes. Pylea was a bad, bad place. But I guess you know that; ya’ll were there.” She drew a deep breath and another silence fell.

Wesley’s arms tightened around her. “It’s all right, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” 

“Maybe I should,” she responded softly. “It’s kinda only fair, considering that I made you talk and all.”

“Fred, you don’t owe me anything!” 

“No. Really. I think I’d like to tell someone, if that’s okay.”

“You know it is,” he told her gently.

“There weren’t many folks you could trust in Pylea. Humans, you know they were treated like animals, bought and sold.” She hesitated.

“Slaves. I recall, quite well.”

She nodded, then a flood of memories washed through her and she found herself rambling. “When I first arrived, I was sold to a farmer. He owned other humans, as well, but most wouldn’t talk much, kinda scared, you understand. Mostly they just stayed to themselves and stuff. I was busy trying to figure out those damned collars, cause I knew if I could ever get rid of that thing I’d be out of there, quick. There was a man, another human on the farm. He was…” Her voice grew low. “Like us. He came though the portal, too. He said that together we’d be able to figure a way to get those collars off. He was like us, Wesley, *civilized.* I trusted him. He wasn’t like the humans born and raised there who were wild and frightened. He was like *us.*” She clinched her hands, her fingers gripping the hair of the man whose head still rested against her chest. “He lied to me. He had no intention of helping me. Ever. He just wanted me to trust him. I don’t know why that was important to him, but it was. He was *civilized.*” Wes raised his head and stared into her eyes. “I trusted him and he attacked me.” 

Wesley gently placed his hand against her lips and breathed, “I understand.” With the tips of his fingers, he slowly traced her mouth, studying her face; the blue of his eyes darkened with sympathy. “Believe me, Fred, I understand. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I never blamed myself. There really wasn’t time for such luxuries in Pylea. Besides, he was the jerk, not me.”

“Quite remarkable,” he whispered in awe as he cupped her chin in the palm of his hand and held her there, staring into her face. “No one should hurt you. *Ever.* You’re a delicate, precious woman who should be cherished.”

Her cheeks blazed and she dipped her head, uncomfortable with the intensity of his stare. 

“I cherish you, Winifred.”

Her heart caught in her throat and she raised her head. “Wesley, I--”

“*Fred?*”

She turned at the sound of a familiar voice that reached her from across the room, turned and found herself looking into the eyes of the man framed in the doorway watching the couple on the bed.

“Charles?”

The black man stood frozen in the entrance. His eyes passed over the room; Fred’s shoes resting on the floor next to the bed, her discarded hose, the disheveled man holding her chin in the palm of his hand…

Gunn turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

//Angel awoke with a start and sat up in the bed. 

Running his hands through the spikes of his hair, he sighed and looked around the room. Half painted walls stared back at him. The furniture that surrounded him was a mixture of new pieces carried in by Gunn and Groo earlier in the day and older smoke-damaged fixtures he couldn’t be persuaded to part with. He squeezed his eyes shut. He needed sleep. So much had happened in the last few days.

Connor.

His son had returned. He smiled as the memory washed over him. They still had far to go, but tonight they’d taken the first tentative steps toward reconciliation. Connor was home. Even if his son insisted he call him Steven, to Angel he would always be his Connor. The son he never dreamed he would have.

Dreams.

Then why did these nightmares persist? Angel couldn’t remember when he last had a good day’s sleep. It felt like ages. He hadn’t truly slept since.

That night in the hospital room. The night he assaulted…

He caught the man’s essence in the air tonight, a whisper on the breeze among hundreds of others in the club where he battled the vampires, his son at his side. He was there. Watching. Somewhere among the mass of humanity, sweating and pressed together, his scent rising clean and clear above all the others, a painful reminder.

He shook his head, banishing the memory from his thoughts. It didn’t matter any more. *He* didn’t matter any more. The only thing he cared about was Connor and making every moment count of the life they would build together as father and son. To hell with the nightmares. His cold dead heart constricted in his chest.

*Why didn’t you trust me?*

To hell with Wesley.//


	4. Betrayal

~*~

“I don’t stab people in the back.” ~ Wesley Wyndam-Pryce

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

“It wasn’t what you thought!”

“Like hell it wasn’t. First he’s chattin’ up my girl every chance he gets. Then the two of you are all wrapped up in his bed.”

“*Charles.* We weren’t ‘all wrapped up.’ It wasn’t what it looked like.” Fred wrung her hands in frustration. She fought to make her companion understand as they sat arguing in the cab of his truck parked in front of the hotel. “Wesley needs us.”

“Yeah, he was needin’ you all right. If he wasn’t already in a hospital bed, I’d have to put some serious hurt on that skinny white--”

“Stop it! We can’t keep going at each other this way. You have to understand that Wesley needs me.”

“No, girl, you don’t understand. Angel needs you. Connor and the rest of us are the ones who need you. Wes made his choice, now he’s got to live with the consequences. Angel doesn’t need this stuff right now. He’s been through enough because of what that man did to him.”

“We’re a family and one of our members is hurtin’. We have to work through this as a team.”

“He ain’t part of this family, Fred. You’re my girl and you got no business hangin’ with the man, much less letting him get you up in his bed.”

“He didn’t ‘get me up in his bed,’ if you’d just listen for once. I’m so sick of arguing about this. Wesley could have died, that’s what we should be concerned about.”

“That’s what happens to traitors.” He turned and glared through the windshield of the truck, his hands gripping the wheel. “He should have thought about that before he consorted with Holtz and turned over Connor. For a walkin’ brain, the man can be pretty stupid sometimes. He should have known those bastards would cut his throat. Literally.”

“I don’t think that he gave Connor to Holtz willingly. We didn’t actually talk about it, but I’m pretty sure we’re not getting the full story. We should have asked him his side of things without just assuming.”

“From where I was standing, it didn’t look like the two of you was talking about much of anything.” He fixed angry eyes on her face. “Or maybe that particular topic wasn’t the one that ‘popped’ up.”

Her cheeks blazed and she averted her eyes. “It wasn’t like that,” she mumbled, hoping that Gunn couldn’t read from her expression that something had, indeed, ‘popped’ up between them. A flush covered her face at the memory and she twisted her hands in her lap. Crawling into bed with a grown man was probably one of the most foolish things Fred had ever done, but it wasn’t what Charles was making it out to be. “He could have died.” She protested. “Angel had no right to do what he did no matter how angry he was with Wesley.”

“Angel?” The black man frowned. “What’s he got to do with this?”

“*Everything,*” she hissed. “I know that he’s in pain but that’s no excuse. He had no right to…to hurt Wesley the way he did.”

“Let me get this straight. We’re talkin’ about him trying to smother Wes at the hospital, right? Cause if that’s the case, I’m sorry, but if the man had taken my kid, I wouldn’t have let him off as lightly as Angel did. Hell, I’m mad enough that he’s trying to steal my girl.”

“He’s not trying to steal me, and I’m not a possession that someone can take. You don’t own me, Charles. I’ve been owned before, I know what that’s like and I’m not about to live through that again. I’m with you because I love you, and if you don’t trust that, then maybe you don’t trust me!” She drew a deep breath and launched into another tirade. “I was with Wes because he needs a friend right now. He needs all of his friends right now, but ya’ll are too stupid and too stubborn to see it.”

“He made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t need any of us. He told me to tell all of you to stay the hell away from him. You can’t get any plainer than that.”

“He said those things because he’s hurting. We turned our backs on him, never gave him a chance to explain. He was in pain. Humans hide when they’re in that kind of pain, they curl up in holes and snap like wild animals if anyone gets too close. I know. I lived that way for five long, lonely years. I know what it’s like to be cold, hungry, frightened and alone. He’s our friend and he doesn’t deserve to be abandoned when he needs help the most.”

“I’m sorry about the way you had to live in Pylea, baby.” Gunn’s expression softened. “But there’s no comparison between what you went through and what Wes has brought on himself. He chose to take Connor, he chose to turn his back on all of his friends and he chose to consort with Holtz. The son of a bitch deserves *anything* Angel does to him. He’s lucky the man didn’t kill him.”

“You don’t mean that!” She gasped, the color draining from her face. “You don’t know what happened. What Angel did. You wouldn’t say that if you knew.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He went to Wesley’s apartment and he hurt him... really bad. He had no right to do that. That’s probably why he threw you out. I know how he feels; you don’t want anyone around when you’re hurting like that. You just want to curl up and die. Men especially, they don’t handle strong emotions well. Least of all, you guys. The two of you have always hidden what you feel behind silly macho punches and funny little handshakes. Ya’ll aren’t big on deep conversation, so there’s no way he would have told you what happened.”

“But he was more than happy to have a *deep* conversation with my girl about his little encounter with Angel.” His jaw tensed and he turned away to stare out the windshield. “So, now the guy’s got this sympathy angle going for him. Dude’s got it all figured out, doesn’t he? Get the girl all teary-eyed then get her into bed.”

“Stop it! I’ve explained to you that it wasn’t the way it looked.”

“He ain’t fooling no one, girl. He’s had a bone for you--”

“Charles!” Her cheeks flushed scarlet and she looked aside.

Gunn gasped when he realized what he said. “Sorry, baby,” he whispered. “He just has me so frustrated, I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. He’s telling you stuff--”

“He didn’t tell me anything; I figured it out on my own. I don’t think he would have talked to me about any of it if I hadn’t forced him to. God, Charles, you have no idea what happened.” She dropped her face into her hands. It was all too horrible to think about. In order to function, to face her companions day after day at the hotel, she kept pushing the truth to a darkened corner of her mind. She and Angel cast passing glances in one another’s direction, but never discussed the matter. It was a conspiracy of silence and it was growing every day. Fred was sick of it. “I wonder if Wes knew this could happen all along?” She spoke more to herself than to the young man fuming at her side. “It’s all about power.”

“Excuse me?”

“Power. Angel’s power base was unsettled when Wesley went off on his own. Angel was trying to reassert his alpha status. He’s a vampire; they don’t think the way we do. Wes was a watcher and he knows how vampires think. It was probably one of the reasons he was so afraid for Connor’s safety. He knew how close to the surface the demon stays. We don’t.”

“I know all about vamps, believe me.”

“You know how to *kill* vampires, not how to *live* with one. The Watchers have studied the hierarchy of their family units for centuries. Wesley had to have known that something like this could happen. Angel thinks of us as his family, but vampires own their families--”

“Angel ain’t like other vamps. This owning stuff’s a bunch of bull.”

“No, it’s not. Angel went crazy when he lost his son, but he lost more than his son when Connor was taken. He lost a member of his ‘family,’ a member who subverted his status. I think he was functioning on pure instinct when he attacked Wesley. I’m not trying to excuse it, but what he did makes better sense when I look at it that way. Animals in the wild can’t function as a unit if authority isn’t established and maintained. Alpha males often attack, maim and even rape other male members--”

“Whoa up there, girl. Angel ain’t no animal, and no one’s saying anything about raping male members of this…” Gunn trailed when he caught the stricken expression on the young woman’s face. He sat frozen in his seat then began to slowly shake his head. “No. No way. You aren’t telling me….”

Fred squeezed her eyes shut and dropped her face into her hands. This wasn’t the way she meant for this to go. 

“Fred?”

She swallowed hard, raised her head and met his gaze. The words stuck in her throat so she nodded mutely, her eyes begging him to understand.

“There’s no way I’m believing that, that Angel…that he and Wes. No way.” Gunn pushed himself against the driver’s side window as if to escape the confines of the truck. “That’s a pretty powerful word you used there.”

“Angel went to Wesley’s apartment and sexually assaulted him, Charles,” she responded bluntly. “I saw the medical report.”

“There’s no way I’m going to believe those two are, that they’re like…*that!*”

“What!” Fred gasped in shock at her flustered companion who looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but trapped inside his truck with her. “You know this has nothing to do with sexual orientation.”

“The hell it doesn’t! Two guys going at it, and you trying to tell me it’s got nothing to do with their orientation. I’m not buying it. Wes told you that he and Angel…”

“He didn’t tell me anything!” She interrupted in desperation, unable to believe that things were degenerating so badly. Why couldn’t he understand what she was trying to say? “It’s about power, you know that. Angel may have a soul but he isn’t human. Vampires claim members of their family; violence is a way of life with them. He was claiming Wesley. On an instinctive level he was probably restoring balance.”

“Restoring balance! Are you nuts? Angel wouldn’t do that. Not happening. No way. Wes is yanking your chain. I don’t know why. Hell, I don’t know why he’s done half the things he’s done lately. But I do know Angel, and there just ain’t no way he--” Gunn threw up his hands in exasperation. “There’s just no way he did that. The guy’s either crazy or lying or both.”

“Wesley isn’t crazy and he isn’t lying,” Fred responded firmly. “I can’t believe you’re acting like this. He’s not to blame for what happened. I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean for it to come out this way, but since it has, I would expect you to be mature about it.”

“You’re just now telling me about this!”

“You refused to discuss anything about Wes with me, Charles. Besides, it wasn’t my place to tell you about this. It’s a violation of Wesley’s privacy. I didn’t intend for it to come out like this.”

“Damn, I should have seen it. I always knew he was pansy assed, but I just thought it was because he was so blasted, you know, *English.*” The young man beat his head against the glass. “Maybe he’s had a thing for Angel all along.”

“What are you talking about?”

“So, what the hell does he want you for?” Gunn snapped, turning angry eyes in her direction. “Why’s the guy hittin’ on my girl if he’s gay?”

“*Gay?*” Rage washed over her. “I told you this has nothing to do with sexual orientation, certainly not Wesley’s. He’s the victim here; can’t you get that through your head? Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said?”

“Maybe he plays both sides of the fence--”

“This conversation’s finished!” She reached for the door handle, struggling to work it, but shaking too furiously to get it opened. “I can’t believe you said that. I thought I knew you, but you’re a walking stereotype. Any fool knows that just because a man’s assaulted, it doesn’t mean he’s gay! I’m walking away so you can calm down and we can discuss this like reasonable adults.”

“Well, *excuse me* for not spending all my time with my nose in those big-ass books, journals and periodicals that you and Wes are so fond of, so that I can possess all the wisdom of the ages like the two of you. Then, I would know all these things that any ‘fool’ knows. Next, you’ll start spoutin’ out statistics and asking me to join some self-awareness group.”

She managed to still the shaking of her hands long enough to yank open the door and scramble to the ground.

“He’s playin’ you, girl. You’ve got to know that.”

“The only thing I know right now is that I’m furious with you, Charles Gunn.” She whirled to face him, hands on her hips. “All along I’ve told myself that if you understood what was really going on, you’d care about what your *best friend* was going through. Now…now, I don’t know what to think. You have no idea how hard it’s been for Wesley to deal with this. How hard it would be for any man to deal with such a thing. *Alone.*” 

She turned and stormed up the walk. 

Gunn jumped from the truck and hurried after her. “Baby, I--”

“Later.” She held up her hand without breaking her stride. “This conversation’s over. If I don’t stop now, I’ll say something we’ll both regret, and I’m just not ready to deal with that today.”

With that she disappeared into the hotel, letting the doors swing shut behind her, leaving an exasperated Gunn in her wake.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

She watched him with large, recriminating eyes, but never said a word. It was strange, this silence, from the member of his family who chattered endlessly about every passing thought that caught her fancy. The tiny whisper of a woman who worshiped him as the “hero” who’d saved her from the monsters of Pylea, now studied him as if he were simply another of her many research projects, or perhaps, an insect under a glass.

They never spoke of Wesley, though they spoke of other things. His name never passed her lips. Only once. That first evening when she returned with Gunn from the hospital, demanding answers, then never again. Still, her dark, knowing eyes spoke of him every time Angel looked up and saw her watching him from across the lobby. Questions he was powerless to answer, even to himself.

Wesley. 

Angel never spoke the name, but it was always there, waiting in the shadow of his thoughts, haunting and insistent, even more so now that Connor was back. He looked up, caught Fred’s eyes as she stormed through the lobby doors, then he quickly looked away. 

She didn’t understand his *claiming* of the ex-watcher. He didn’t understand it himself. His desperation and rage at losing his son to the man he trusted more than any living man on earth, twisted and mingled with the demon, and pure instinct drove him to Wesley’s apartment that night. He was going to kill the man to purge the agony in his soul. Wesley was *his;* how could someone who belonged to him betray him in such a way? Instead, he coupled with the man, brutally; leaving his indelible mark on what rightfully belonged to him. The soul within him cried out in shame, knowing it was madness, that what he’d done was wrong, but the demon within him reveled in the act.

Wesley was his.

The coupling was violent, but hardly more so than those he shared with Darla, his mate of over a hundred years. Even Connor was conceived in the brutal madness of the moment amidst shards of glass and angry threats. It was always that way between him and Darla. 

Now Wesley. 

When he slept, he dreamed of thrusting deep into a long, slender body trapped beneath him, eyes pale blue and wanting, desiring affirmation of self-worth from the object of his adoration – Angel. Wanting his touch, even as he fought back tears of pain and humiliation before the man who left him broken and bloodied. Wesley refused to scream, and Angel was impressed. He was stronger than the vampire imagined, biting back the pain, even though the vampire knew just where to cut with his words to wound the ex-watcher the deepest. Knowing, only too well, Wes’s frailties and insecurities as only the closest of friends would, he was deliberately cruel, hoping to fully demobilize the man. 

In the end, he had. 

The demon within Angel roared with delight at the conquest. The man within Angel woke up hard.

Whether the ex-watcher realized it or not, whether he would ever acknowledged it even to himself….

Wesley belonged to Angel.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

“Baby, I’m sorry.”

Fred looked up from across the lobby counter and saw Gunn standing on the other side, leaning against the reception desk and watching her with expectant eyes.

She said nothing

“Look. I’m sorry that I acted that way, but, girl, you’ve got to understand, you hit me out of the blue with that thing. I mean, I *never.*”

She drew a deep breath and finally conceded. “I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did. I guess it was kinda shocking.”

“That’s the understatement of the year. I don’t know what to make of all this. *If* it’s true.”

“It is.” She fixed him with an icy stare.

“Still, I just…this is just not the kind of thing you spring on a guy. Where I’m from, things like this just don’t happen. Maybe in sick-o prison flicks and on Showtime; stuff real men don’t watch…”

“Things like this happen everywhere, Charles. People just don’t talk about it,” she responded firmly.

He shrugged and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah, well. I do know vamps are territorial and all. I haven’t studied them extensively, as you’ve pointed out, but I’ve killed enough of them to know, they aren’t like us. I just never really thought about Angel like that. I mean, I know he’s a vamp, and I let him know up front that I didn’t trust the guy. But I didn’t think about stuff like this; that he might think he owns us, and that he would, that he *could,* do something like that to Wes.” He dropped his head and studied the toe of his boots. “I know that vamps do crazy things to each other. Him and Darla were about as wild as you can get. He went nuts when she was around. You weren’t here, so you don’t know what it was like. But trust me, it was scary. He went off and did nutsy things. People died. Wes held us together back then. I don’t know what we would have done without him. Maybe, Wes leaving like he did caused Angel to lose it again. Still, I just can’t see him…” He pulled air deeply into his lungs and let it out slowly. “If he really did that to Wes, no wonder the guy’s been so cold. He probably hates us all.”

“We haven’t really tried to reach out to him, Charles, or even to ask his side of things. I’ve been visiting him, maybe you could--”

“I’m kinda busy right now.” Gunn took a step back from the counter. 

“Charles.”

“Give me time, Fred. Please, just give me time. I don’t know how I feel about all this. I gotta talk to Angel about it; you know I do, get his side of things.” He drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry I blew up like I did and assumed all those things about Wes. I just don’t know what to think anymore. I’ve been so angry. I thought I knew him and when he went off like he did, without telling anybody. Without telling *me.*”

“I felt the same way.”

“Now you’re telling me…you’re telling me *this.* I kinda suspected he had a run-in with Angel when I was talkin’ with the doc at the hospital. But this, girl…I *never.* You don’t want to know what crazy stuff’s been going through my mind. The pictures. It makes me ill…” He shook his head to dispel the images. “I just can’t deal.”

“It wasn’t his fault.” She leaned over the counter, trying to draw him back with her eyes. “He really needs his friends right now, whether he admits it or not.”

“How could he let Angel do that! No man’s ever gonna--”

“He didn’t *let* Angel do anything,” she gasped. “If you’d just go with me to visit him, it might help you understand things better.”

Gunn took another step back, his eyes locked on her face. “Like I said, I’m busy right now.”

“Charles.”

The man was gone.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

He stood looking into the mirror of the small restroom, studying the clean-shaven lines of his face and the pale skin that so readily blushed with color without the least provocation. It was his curse since youth, to have his emotions so easily read by those around him, and so readily taken advantage of by the classmates of his younger years and later at university, who found his blush amusing. The scruffy stubble that was his trademark throughout most of the past few weeks was a welcome barrier between a hostile world and his damaged soul.

Today, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce chose to remove that barrier between himself and the pain of his existence, as for the second day in a row, he shaved away the shadow to reveal the truth beneath. His eyes passed slowly over his chin and settled on the raw edge of the gash that glared back at him from the left side of his throat. Yet another scar to join the growing ranks of all the indignities that marred his body. The other wounds he could hide beneath his clothes, revealing them only to those he chose to in moments of intimacy, but this latest scar would be an eternal reminder for the entire world to view.

Today, he was going home. Dr. McBride agreed to release him, acknowledging the fact that his health had rebounded with its usual resilience. That, combined and the fact that the supplemental insurance policy Wesley had the forethought to purchase last year was quickly dwindling, persuaded the doctor to let him leave. He was going home, but not alone this time.

Miss Burkle insisted she accompany him. He argued there was no need, but she revealed a hidden spark of stubbornness and announced she would arrive by cab promptly at 8:00 to pick him up and he’d better be ready or suffer the consequences. It was only 6:00 but he was showered, shaved and dressed in sweats, waiting until closer to Fred’s arrival to slip into kakis and his shirt. 

He thought of the girl, and the ghost of a smile passed over his lips, the first in what seemed like ages, and a hint of color flushed his cheeks. Damn his fair skin. He slowly shook his head and contemplated the merits of re-growing that beard. 

He caught the brilliant blue of his eyes in the mirror and a memory washed over him of the brush of her skin next to his, the warmth of her body and the gentle familiarity of her presence as she lay next to him in his bed the day before, talking. In her haste to depart, she’d forgotten her hose. He found them crumpled on the floor and he gently packed them in his overnight bag, the same bag she’d packed for him the week before, carefully considering his every need, down to his journal gently wrapped and packaged with an assortment of pencils and pens. She delivered the offering to his hospital room only to be rebuffed by a wooly ogre and sent away in tears. Still, the extraordinary woman persisted, until the day he acquiesced and surrendered to the comfort she so kindly offered.

*Winifred, I cherish you.*

He smiled…

“I don’t appreciate being threatened.” 

He was gazing at his own reflection in the glass when the voice from behind gave him a start. There was no reflection other than his own in the mirror so the voice could only belong to one man. He whirled around and faced the vampire. “Angel?”

“I don’t appreciate being threatened,” he repeated calmly.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Wesley took an involuntary step back in the close confines of the restroom and found himself pressed against the sink. 

“The good Doctor McBride informed me through Gunn that my presence in your room would be grounds for my immediate removal from the premises.” Angel closed the gap between them. “I take it, from your expression, that you were unaware of this little edict.” 

Wesley pulled in his breath at the closeness of the vampire and fought to calm the sudden racing of his heart, knowing that Angel could sense its every beat. “That assumption would be correct. Nonetheless, I agree with his sentiments. Leave.”

“You’re looking well.” He chose to ignore the command. “There’s a healthy flush to your cheeks.”

“I want you to leave. Now.”

“Why don’t you simply scream?” He grinned and leaned near. “As I recall, you used to be quite good at it. It might even make me nostalgic for our Sunnydale days.”

“I assure you, Angel, I shall never ‘scream’ for you. So if it’s your intention to terrorize me, your efforts shall be in vain. Leave.” 

“Dr. McBride should be commended. Your color is high and your blood--” He scented the air and sighed. “--Is heady and robust. I can almost taste it on my tongue.” 

The vampire’s eyes fell to the angry gash marring the ex-watcher’s throat, and Wesley suppressed the urge to tremble. Angel was close. Too close. 

“I smell her on you. Fred. Did you think that I wouldn’t? Even after you bathed?” He slowly shook his head. “She’s Gunn’s girl, you know.”

“Who I’m with is none of your *damned* business.” Anger flashed through him and he faced his ex-friend down. “My life is none of your damned business. Get out!”

“I didn’t come to argue or to harm you.”

“You’ll forgive me if I find your assertion dubious, considering our last encounter.”

“Yes,” he breathed. “Our last encounter.”

Wesley shivered as a memory passed over him, threatening to steal his resolve. But he held his ground, clinging to the dignity he fought so hard to regain in the aftermath of Angel’s assault. The room grew stuffy and he pressed still closer to the sink, the porcelain digging into the back of his thighs.

“You know that Connor’s returned, I’m sure.” 

He was surprised by the casualness of the comment and he nodded numbly but gave no reply.

“My son’s returned to me. My family’s complete…almost.” Reaching out, he rested his hand on the ex-watcher’s hip. “Almost.”

Wesley’s eyes widened and his resolve crumbled the minute the icy touch penetrated the loose fabric of his sweats. In a sudden frenzy, all he could think of was pushing past the vampire and out of the suffocating room. He was trapped. His heart rose into his throat.

Angel saw the thinly veiled terror in his face and slowly shook his head, removing his hand but not moving back to clear Wesley’s exit. “I haven’t come here to harm you.”

“Let me out of here.” His voice was strong despite the constriction in his chest. “Move out of my way. *Now.*”

“I want you to come home. Back to us, where you belong.”

“You’re utterly insane!” The words rasped from his throat, unable to believe what he heard. “To consider that I should wish to be any where near you ever again is sheer madness. Whatever would possess you to come here and propose such a thing? Do you think me daft?”

“It’s where you belong,” he responded softly, again bridging the distance between them. “You know that what I’m saying’s true.”

“You thought you’d come here and have another go at me, did you?” His eyes darkened in rage. “I’ve news for you, Angel, you’ll have to kill me this time. I’m not chained to a bed.”

“I’ve no intention of killing you. But both of us know, if I wanted you, I wouldn’t need to chain you.” His voice fell to a whisper. “I could take you in a heartbeat. Your heartbeat. But that’s not what I want; I want you to come back to the family.”

“What are you playing at? I’m supposed to just forget what happened?” Reality crumbled around him, and he fought to keep from collapsing by grabbing the sink behind him. This couldn’t be happening. “You ripped my god damned insides out, you bastard!”

“I don’t expect either of us to ever forget.” Angel returned his hand to the ex-watcher’s hip and gently massaged. His hand slowly moved behind to caress a rounded cheek through the fabric of his sweats. “I won’t hurt you.” 

Wesley froze and his eyes grew wide.

“I won’t hurt you, ever again,” he breathed and pressed his body against the other man’s slender form. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”

Wesley fought to speak, but his throat constricted around the words and he couldn’t catch his breath. He began to tremble violently as Angel’s hands moved over the cheeks of his ass and gently stroked, pulling him close. Angel tilted his head and sought the other man’s lips, brushing them gently with his own, then with greater insistence, forcing them to part and slipping his tongue inside his mouth. Wesley drew in his breath and slowly, reluctantly, returned the kiss. Angel’s hands continued to roam, caressing his body, slipping to the small of his back then up to his trembling shoulders. The human, though frail in comparison, was actually slightly taller than the solidly built vampire and Angel pulled his head down harder against his own, deepening the kiss and plundering the mouth with his tongue. Wesley continued to shake beneath his touch.

“You’ve nothing to fear,” the vampire whispered against his lips. “Come with me.”

Suddenly, he was free when Angel stepped back and allowed him to move away from the sink biting into the back of his thighs and cutting off his circulation. He drew a deep, quivering breath and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Wes, come with me.”

He opened his eyes as Angel slipped out of the confined space and into the hospital room where he headed toward the bed and reached for the overnight bag resting there. He moved the bag to the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

Wesley’s eyes widened in horror. “You can’t possibly expect that I would actually. That I could actually…”

“No,” he replied softly. “I want you here…beside me. I want to sit with you, nothing more. Prove to you that I don’t mean you any harm.”

He felt the floor give way beneath him and he almost collapsed. This was madness. “You want me dead,” he said bluntly. “And you may rest assured, I feel the same way about you.”

“When I came to your apartment, yes, the man in me wanted revenge for the loss of his son.”

“You got it,” he hissed bitterly. “You made it clear to me that night in the hospital that it was you, Angel, and not Angelus who wanted me dead.”

“Yes, the man wanted revenge, but the demon denied the man his desire. You would have died that night in your apartment, Wes, if the demon hadn’t wanted something more. I claimed you; you’re mine.”

“*The hell I am.*”

A smile traced his lips and he slid off the bed and moved over to where Wesley stood. He took his arm; the muscles tensed beneath his hand, and forced him toward the bed. “Come.”

Numb with confusion, he found himself sitting on the edge, Angel beside him. Again, he began to shake. He had to get away, every instinct screamed escape, but he was frozen to the spot. The vampire’s hand began to slowly stroke his back, kneading the knotted muscles.

“I smell the girl in your bed.”

His back stiffened beneath Angel’s touch.

“It’s all right. When all this is said and done, if she chooses you instead of Gunn, and she might, I won’t intervene. They’re fighting almost every day. I wouldn’t be surprised if they grew apart with no contrivance on your part.”

“I would never manipulate Fred. I’ll respect whatever choice she makes.” Anger flashed through him as he sat frozen beneath the hand gently rubbing his shoulders. He turned defiant eyes in Angel’s direction and glared.

“Still, she laid with you. That’s a sign she’s interested whether she realizes it or not.”

“Whatever occurs between Fred and me is none of your affair!” he snapped. “If you’re able to smell her presence, you insufferable snoop, then you know that nothing happened.”

“Everything that happens between the members of my family *is* my business, Wes. That’s what you so foolishly failed to understand.”

“This, from a man who is utterly clueless about what’s going on around him!”

“You were a Watcher. You, better than anyone, should have known how I’d respond to your betrayal.”

“So. I’m to blame for your insanity; that’s just peachy. I suppose, you’re expecting that I should apologize for what I *forced* you to do to me.” An involuntary shiver coursed through him and he shifted away from the hand caressing his back.

Angel held tight to his shoulder, and moving his arm around the man, pulled him near. “I won’t hurt you again,” he repeated softly. “Let me touch you. Let me show you what we should have shared. You’re mine.’

“You’re insane. If you think for one minute that I can forget…that I can turn away from the memories of what you did, and permit you to lay a hand on me, then you’ve lived with that demon inside of you for far too many years to retain any semblance of sanity or humanity.”

He shifted near and whispered against the younger man’s ear as if revealing a secret. “When I took you…you came for me that night, Wes. You wanted me.”

His cheeks blazed in humiliation and he was suddenly unable to meet the other man’s eyes. “A physiological response, nothing more,” he hissed in rage. Intellectually, he knew he was powerless to control his body’s response that night, still, the memory mortified him. “I didn’t want what…. what you did to me.”

“No. You didn’t, not the way it happened.” The vampire finally conceded, taking the ex-watcher’s hand in his. “If you don’t trust me not to harm you, then know that I trust you. What happened before will never happen again. *Ever.*” He rested the man’s hand against the vulnerable flesh beginning to slightly swell in his own trousers. “Know that I trust you.”

Wesley gasped in surprise. His body coiled with tension and his instincts screamed for him to escape as he sat frozen on the bed, the vampire’s hand trapping his against the growing flesh that had caused him such pain and humiliation. “I worshiped you, you *bastard.*” The words escaped his lips before he realized he’d spoken them aloud and he longed to pull them back, but couldn’t. “Damn you.”

“I know.” He gently manipulated the hand beneath his and drew a sigh. “When you told me that you’d never been with a man, I thought you were lying. But after…when I thought about it, I realized you were telling me the truth. It doesn’t have to be the way it was that night. A claiming can be very brutal…frightening even, for both of us. It will never be that way again.” 

“I suppose, you’re far more the authority than I am as to what such things should be like.” He glowered, but couldn’t bring himself to fight the hand trapping his. “All these years, you’ve maintained your sole desire is to be human. Now you freely admit you permitted that beast to control you.”

“I would have killed you, Wesley! The man in me wanted you dead. I had no idea that the demon in me…wanted you. But when I touched you…” Angel pulled an unneeded breath into his lungs and repeated softly, “I would have killed you had I not heeded the beast’s desires.”

“I’m quite aware of what Angelus is capable of. I’ve spent my life studying your atrocities. When most young men were reading sports journals and playing games, I was cloistered away, pouring over diary after diary of your carnage. Even before I trained as a Watcher. A bit of a morbid obsession, I’ll confess. But you Angel, you are NOT Angelus, and you’ve no excuse for letting that demon control you.” 

“As a scholar of demonology, Watcher trained, I’ve no doubt your knowledge of Angelus’ sadism intensified your terror that night--”

“You’ve no idea what I felt! I had no inkling that you, *Angel,* were capable of perpetrating such an abomination against me. I realize that vampires are often bisexual, but you have the audacity to sit here and tell me what? That you *want* me? You’ve never shown the least indication that you’re attracted to men.”

“Since regaining my soul, I haven’t felt such an attraction. Although it’s true that bisexuality among vampires is not uncommon, I was with Darla throughout most of my un-life. There was Penn, briefly; he belonged to me. I’m aware there’s speculation within the Watcher journals that Spike and I were together, but Spike belonged to Dru. As Angelus, I confess, I’ve raped my victims both female and male.”

“Then I’m in good company.” He snorted.

“No. You were never my victim. I assure you, had you been, we would not be discussing this now. You belong to me, as surely as Penn belonged to me, as deeply as Darla. Our couplings were often graphic and violent; Connor was conceived in the midst of such madness. You have that same effect on me, Wesley. I never thought that I would feel such insanity again. When I thought that I’d lost you, I went mad with rage.”

“I take it, your words are meant to allay my fears of you. If so, your technique leaves much to be desired.” Wesley wanted to pull his hand away, but didn’t try as the organ continued to swell beneath his touch. He felt the echo of a stirring within his own body and his eyes widened in surprise. 

“It’s alright.” Angel moved to slip his hand against the thin fabric of the man’s sweats, but Wes shuddered and flinched away.

“You swore you wouldn’t touch me!” he gasped, fighting the urge to bolt. “I can’t abide it, and I shan’t permit it. You’d have to kill me first.”

“You’re right, I promised.” He withdrew his hand, returning it to the one still resting in his lap and firmly rubbing the human’s hand against himself. “I’ll keep my word. I won’t hurt you again, and I’ll never kill you, even if you choose to deny me the right to be with you. You belong to me.”

“Stop saying that!”

“As a Watcher, even an ex-watcher, you know the truth of my claims. I may possess a soul, but I’m not human. What I feel for you is no less genuine than what I felt for Darla or Penn; I didn’t choose to feel this way--”

“So *you’re* the bloody victim here!” he interrupted, seething. “Well, I’ve news for you, Angel. I bloody well didn’t choose to have you chain me to my bed and ram your soddin’ cock up my arse.” The words flew from his lips in a rage and the hand in Angel’s lap tensed around the tender flesh, causing the vampire to flinch. “I bled for days, you bastard, inside and out, and that’s before the infection set in, burning up my guts. Now you have the audacity to waltz in here and tell me how *powerless* you are. Yes. I took your son; I stole Connor. I confess; I did it! But did any of you, even once, think to ask me about it? I lay bleeding to death in a park, my throat slashed by some cult-crazed bitch and you actually believe that I *gave* Connor to Holtz. After all these years, you didn’t think to ask me? No. You chose to come to my hospital bed and smother me! Then days later, rather than come to me and ask me to help you reopen the portal to return your son to you, you decide that it’s appropriate retaliation to force yourself on me, knowing….” His voice cracked and began to fade as he continued in a whisper, “…Knowing how I felt…all these years, how I felt about you.” Shuddering, he ripped his hand from Angel’s grasp and dropped his face into his palms.

The room fell silent.

The vampire drew a useless breath deeply into his lungs then slowly wrapped his arms around the human’s shoulders that trembled violently beneath his touch, but Wesley didn’t pull away. He drew him close to his body and absorbed the tremors coursing through him. The ex-watcher wasn’t sobbing but he was shaking uncontrollably in Angel’s embrace. Wes cursed himself for his weakness; the fragile self-control he’d fought so hard to maintain crumbled around him. Angel’s scorn was something he expected, but not this declaration of what? Affection? A pledge of commitment? How long had he dreamed of just this moment? It was beyond anything he’d ever hoped, that Angel would find worth in him when no one else ever had, least of all himself.

“You belong to me, Wesley.”

He raised his head and captured the vampire’s lips with his own. Angel gave a start of surprise then fell into the embrace, returning the kiss with inhuman fervor and pushing him back into the cushion of the pillows braced against the headboard. Wesley consumed the pale lips, warming them with his own and thrusting his tongue into the depths of his mouth, relishing the texture of the cool tongue that rose to meet it, stroking it, then tasting the inside of Angel’s mouth, the metallic bite of blood lingering on his breath. The vampire pressed against him, his hands caressing his body in long, sweeping strokes as if he could devour the ex-watcher with his touch. Wesley arched into the body pressing down upon him and felt the hardness of the other man’s growing arousal as it thrust insistently against him. He froze when a memory cut through him of pain and humiliation, but he drew a deep breath and ran his hands over the vampire’s back, feeling the ripple of strong muscles beneath, then reaching out toward the nightstand, his hand slipped into the overnight bag resting there, past the journal so thoughtfully packaged for him the week before, his fingers wrapping securely around a pencil in its depths.

Cool lips caressed his and he returned the kiss deeply with passion even as he gripped the pencil in his fist poised above the vampire’s back…

A sound caught his attention and he looked past Angel’s shoulder at the figure of a small woman framed in the doorway. Fred, her eyes wide and round at the sight of the two men writhing in one another’s arms on the bed, stood watching, spellbound, without recrimination in her face but rather a look of bewilderment. A frown creased her brow.

“You shouldn’t have come here, Angel,” he rasped against the man’s mouth before plundering it with his tongue, then whispering, “I warned you before that if you *ever* touched me again--”

Summoning all his strength, he plunged the wooden implement downward…

“—I’d stake you, you bastard!”

He drove the point home. 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

//Angel screamed out in his sleep, involuntarily fighting to pull air into his dead chest as his body shuddered awake. Air eluded him and water rushed into his lungs instead, filling and gagging him. He tried to expel it, but more gushed in to replace the flood. Water, everywhere, pressing down upon him, stealing the air he didn’t really need but craved. 

It was maddening.

Trapped inside a casket fashioned by his own son, in a plan designed to commit his father to a watery grave, Angel rested below the ocean’s depths. Tortured and alone with only his memories, regrets and these never-ending nightmares to console him.

The nightmares that had haunted him since his fateful encounter with Wesley that night at the hospital when the ex-watcher had stolen his son, the same Connor who’d condemned him to this murky fate.

The nightmares never faded but grew, consuming his reality more and more with each passing sequence. Now, he lacked even the solace of dry land and the comfort of his companions, his “family,” to absorb the pain.

*Wes, why didn’t you trust me?*

Betrayal was a vicious barb that pierced the heart and left the soul to die.

*Angel, why didn’t you ask?*

In his watery tomb, Angel was left with eternity to ponder the endless dreams…//

 

~~The End


End file.
